Pretending Not to Care

Haru's Perspective

People always say time heals everything.

They don't tell you what to do when time stops moving.

Because that's what it feels like.

Every hallway. Every class. Every fleeting second when I feel him watching me — it's like I'm frozen in place, stuck between wanting to scream and wanting to run into his arms.

But I can't do either.

Because I'm still angry.

Because I'm still hurt.

And worse?

Because I'm still in love with him.

It's been over a week since that night. Since the kiss. Since the way my heart had screamed yes while my brain whispered danger.

Minho kissed me like he meant it.

Like he'd been waiting for that moment since the day we met.

And I kissed him back.

Not because I was weak.

But because I'm tired of lying to myself.

And then he did nothing.

No text. No call. No desperate attempt to talk when he had the chance.

Just more teasing glances, as if nothing had changed.

So I played along.

Pretended it didn't matter.

Pretended I didn't spend every night replaying that kiss.

Pretended I didn't feel the ghost of his lips on mine when I closed my eyes.

It's exhausting.

Being the one who feels everything while acting like I feel nothing.

Donghyun notices. He always does.

"You good?" he asks, poking at his kimbap with his chopsticks.

"Yeah," I lie, again.

"You've been kinda off lately. Are you sure everything's cool between you and… y'know, Minho?"

I look up sharply. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugs. "Because you flinch every time someone says his name."

I force a laugh. "I do not."

"You kind of do." He leans in. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

I look at him, really look at him.

Donghyun's a good guy. Smart. Sweet. Handsome. Talented. A literal dream boyfriend for someone like me.

But he's not the one I think about when I fall asleep.

He's not the one who turns my whole world upside down with a single glance.

He's not Minho.

So I smile again. "Thanks. But I'm fine."

That's what I say.

But it's a lie. And he knows it.

I see Minho later that day. He's leaning against a vending machine, typing something on his phone, but his eyes flick up the second I step into the hallway.

We make eye contact.

For half a second, I forget how to breathe.

He doesn't smile.

Neither do I.

He looks like he hasn't slept. There are dark shadows under his eyes, and his hoodie is wrinkled like he hasn't bothered with laundry in a while. I want to ask if he's okay.

But I don't.

I just nod at him, curt, cold, and walk past.

It's stupid, how my heart still stutters every time he's near.

Even now.

Even after everything.

I try to move on. Try to let Donghyun fill the space Minho left behind.

It's not fair to either of them.

But I'm tired of being empty.

Donghyun starts sending me good morning texts.

Starts waiting for me outside my dorm.

Starts offering to carry my bag even though I tell him not to.

And I let him.

Because Minho never did any of that.

Because Minho only ever showed up when he wanted something — a reaction, a fight, a kiss I wasn't ready for.

And yet…

It's Minho I look for in the crowd.

It's Minho I see at the back of the lecture hall, two rows behind me, wearing those glasses he only uses when he's trying to look smart — and failing, because he still looks like a model trying to cosplay a student.

I feel his gaze before I see it.

I always do.

I try to focus on the professor, but I hear Minho shifting in his seat. He does that thing where he taps his pen twice and spins it with his fingers — it used to annoy me.

Now it hurts.

Because I miss it.

I miss him.

And I hate that I do.

That night, Donghyun calls.

"You free tomorrow?"

I hesitate. "Why?"

"My showcase. You promised you'd come."

"Right," I murmur. "Yeah. Of course."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

Another lie.

I end the call and bury my face in my pillow.

Showcase Day

I wear something simple. Comfortable. Nothing that screams "date," even though I know that's what Donghyun thinks it is.

He introduces me to his friends.

Sits me in the front row.

Smiles at me like I'm the sun.

And all I can think about is Minho.

Stupid Minho.

Stupid kiss.

Stupid silence.

Halfway through the performance, I feel a shift in the air.

I turn.

And there he is.

Standing in the back, hoodie up, eyes on me.

Not on the stage.

Not on Donghyun.

Just me.

My heart flips.

He shouldn't be here.

He never comes to theater stuff unless I drag him.

But now he's here.

For me.

Watching.

Jealous.

I look away first.

Because I can't handle it.

Because part of me wants him to storm up to the stage, grab me by the wrist, and pull me away like a scene from a drama.

But this isn't a drama.

It's real.

And messy.

And painful.

After the show, I find him waiting outside the theater building.

Again.

Always waiting.

I walk past him without a word.

"Haru."

His voice cracks.

I stop.

Barely.

"I saw you with him," he says.

"And?"

He flinches. "You don't even like him."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't."

"You don't get to decide that."

"I kissed you."

"And then you ignored me."

"I didn't know what to do!"

"You don't have to do anything," I snap. "Just stay out of my way."

He grabs my wrist.

I jerk back.

"Don't."

"Haru—"

"I'm not yours, Minho."

His eyes soften. "But you were. Just for a moment."

"That moment's gone."

"Not for me."

I don't sleep that night.

I stare at my ceiling, counting regrets like stars.

One.

Two.

Three.

All of them begin and end with Minho.

Following Week

I keep my distance.

Minho doesn't.

I find notes in my locker.

Small, folded papers with scribbled apologies.

"I'm sorry I ruined everything."

"You looked beautiful today. Not that you care."

"I miss talking to you."

I don't reply.

But I don't throw them away either.

I keep them in my wallet.

Right next to the ticket stub from the play he watched last month.

The one where he gave me flowers backstage and told me, "You were the only real thing on that stage."

Then comes the rooftop.

Again.

Always the rooftop.

Where everything starts and ends with us.

I find him there, back turned, staring at the sky like it holds answers.

He doesn't hear me approach.

He only turns when I whisper, "You still smoke?"

He stiffens.

Then stubs out the cigarette on the concrete ledge.

"You hate the smell," he murmurs.

"I do."

"Sorry."

We stand there in silence.

It's the most honest conversation we've had in weeks.

"I broke it off with Donghyun," I say quietly.

He blinks. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of pretending."

He laughs once — bitter, broken.

"Me too."

Then he turns to me.

And his expression crumbles.

"I miss you so much, Haru."

"I miss you too."

His hand trembles when he reaches for me.

And this time, I don't stop him.

Because love doesn't always come wrapped in flowers and perfect moments.

Sometimes, it comes bruised and breathless.

Sometimes, it comes in the form of a boy who drives you insane and makes you cry and kiss him anyway.

Because he's the only one who ever made your heart race and stop all at once.

Because he's Minho.

And despite everything...

I still want him.