Chapter 1: the Girl Who Didn’t Scream
The first thing Jungkook noticed was that she didn’t scream.
The studio doors opened, the manager announced his name, and the room reacted exactly as expected — gasps, hands flying to mouths, phones shaking as they were raised too quickly. It was a reaction he had memorized over the years. Muscle memory.
But she didn’t move.
She stood near the window, arms folded loosely, sunlight catching the curve of her cheek. Her skin was deep brown, smooth like polished wood, glowing softly under the Seoul afternoon. Her braids were pulled back, neat and intentional, and her expression remained calm — curious, but not stunned.
She looked at him like a person. Not a miracle. Not a fantasy. Not a golden trophy.
Jungkook felt something tighten in his chest.
“Everyone, this is Jeon Jungkook,” the manager said cheerfully. “He’ll be observing the workshop this week.”
Polite bows followed. Whispers. Smiles too wide.
Still, she stayed quiet.
When her eyes met his, she nodded once. Respectful. Unimpressed.
That unsettled him more than screaming ever could.
Later, during a break, he sat two chairs away from her. Too close to be accidental.
“You don’t like BTS?” he asked casually, eyes fixed on his hands.
She smiled then — small, knowing.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t scream.”
“I don’t scream at people,” she replied gently. “Seems unfair.”
He laughed before he could stop himself. A real laugh. Short. Surprised.
“What do you scream at, then?” he asked.
“Bad poetry,” she said. “And injustice.”
Now he looked at her fully.
“What’s your name?”
“Zainab. But you can call me Zee.”
She didn’t ask for his. That did something to him.
That night, Jungkook couldn’t sleep. Her voice followed him — calm, grounded, accented in a way he couldn’t place but wanted to hear again. She hadn’t tried to impress him. Hadn’t asked for a photo. Hadn’t crossed the invisible line everyone else seemed desperate to step over.
She stayed exactly where she was. And somehow, that’s where he wanted to be too.
Later that night He stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way she had looked at him. Not like a fan, not like a girl starstruck, not like someone ready to fall apart at the sight of a celebrity. She had looked at him like a person. And that simple thing — the quiet, the calm — had him tangled in thoughts he hadn’t expected to feel.
The workshop had ended hours ago, but he couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, sunlight brushing her cheek, her eyes steady. Her smile wasn’t wide or forced. It was just… honest. Real. And somehow, it unsettled him more than screams ever had.
He turned to his side, trying to focus on anything else: the music sheets scattered across the studio, the faint smell of ink from the posters, the distant hum of cars in the Seoul streets. But every shadow in the room seemed to carry her presence. The subtle sway of her shoulders, the calm in the way she had folded her arms, the softness of her laugh when she responded to his question.
Jungkook wondered how someone could have such an impact without trying. Without screaming. Without demanding attention.
His phone buzzed, breaking the spell, and he almost ignored it. Almost. But curiosity got the better of him. A group chat from the other members had blown up with emojis and excited texts. Yet he didn’t open it. He didn’t want anyone else’s excitement; it felt shallow compared to what he felt for her. For Zee.
He remembered the sound of her voice clearly, the way her accent colored her words. He could hear it in his mind: calm, smooth, deliberate. “I didn’t say that.” And then, later, “Bad poetry. And injustice.” He laughed again quietly, imagining her standing there, straight-backed, eyebrows raised slightly as if daring someone to contradict her.
He closed his eyes. He didn’t know why this one girl had broken through the wall he had built over years. The fans, the fame, the expectations—they all faded in comparison. She hadn’t asked for anything from him, and yet, she had taken more than anyone else ever had: his attention. His curiosity. A part of his heart he hadn’t realized was waiting.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. He could feel it now, that pull — the one that whispered, Go back. Find her. Talk to her again.
She stayed exactly where she was that afternoon, arms crossed, calm, steady. And somehow, without even knowing it, Jungkook wanted to stay there too. Right beside her.
