𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬

The spotlight shimmered across the stage as Huntrix stood center-frame, dazzling in midnight sequins and pride. ‘What It Sounds Like’ was already charting globally. Critics praised its honesty, fans cried over its raw emotion, and no one could stop watching their last performance.

A few days after the song’s release, Huntrix went quiet for months. No fan meets, no livestreams, just occasional Instagram posts with dance shoes, scribbled lyrics, and blurry cafe shots.

Truth was, they needed the break. Not just from fame, but from memory. Especially Rumi.

The practice room buzzed faintly with the low beat of a demo track. Zoey was writing lyrics in front of the mirror. Mira stood center, with Rumi beside her as she taught the new choreography. Rumi’s arms were limp, and sweat clung to her face as her body lagged two counts behind the choreo.

“Five, six—Rumi. Again.” Mira’s voice cut through gently.

Rumi blinked. Her limbs moved, but they weren’t doing the moves she wanted them to do. She was out of sync. Again.

“Sorry,” Rumi muttered, brushing her hair behind her ear.

Zoey turned off the music. “Hey, how about we take ten?”

Rumi sat down on the wooden floor, sweat cooling on her skin. Mira and Zoey were laughing over some snacks, but Rumi’s mind wasn’t in the room. It hadn’t been for weeks, not since that night, not since him.

“You gave me my soul back. Now… I give it to you.”

His last words echoed through her mind. That final look in his eyes before he—

Rumi sighed as she tried to forget about it. Her heart beat too fast whenever she let her mind wander. Her body remembered the weight of his sacrifice, even if her smile pretended otherwise.

Everyone said he was gone. No body, no voice, no soul.

“Rumi,” Zoey called from across the room, waving a carton of banana milk. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Rumi smiled slightly. “Just tired.”

That night, she decided to turn in early. And she dreamed again. It wasn’t anything dramatic, not some fight scene or fantasy. Just him. Just Jinu standing under a streetlight, soft rain soaking his jacket, his lips barely moving as he whispered her name.

“Rumi.”

She turned to run towards him—and woke up with a sharp inhale, her fingers clutching her bedsheets. Her room was silent. Only the quiet hum of the fan and the dull ache in her chest.

“Stop doing this,” Rumi whispered in the dark. “He’s gone.”

But even as she said it, her soul trembled, because some part of her didn’t believe it.

She wasn’t able to fall back asleep, so she slipped out of the apartment through her balcony. Mira always reprimanded her for this as it was extremely dangerous, but she never listened.

Seoul was safe again, now that the Honmoon was back in place and Gwi Ma was defeated.

Rumi wandered around the streets of Seoul aimlessly, drawn by instinct more than direction. And that’s when she heard it.

A soft humming. It was faint, but beautiful. And familiar.

She followed the sound of the humming into a narrow alley, past an old lantern shrine tucked between apartment blocks. And there, on the rooftop, sat someone.

Rumi’s breath caught in her throat.

The figure was hunched in a hoodie, the soft moonlight catching the edge of his black hair that was cut a little shorter now, but unmistakable.

Jinu.

Rumi stepped forward, and the humming stopped. The figure turned his head, and their eyes met.

It really was Jinu.

And in a blur of motion, he bolted, vanishing into the night like a ghost.

“Jinu?” Rumi whispered, her eyes wide. “He’s… alive.”