Y/N POV

"Hello?" I said again when the silence on the other end stretched a beat too long.

"Hello, who are you and why do you have my son's phone with you?" The voice was a woman's, brisk and faintly suspicious, cutting straight past any pleasantries.

My grip on the phone tightened. "Actually I, umm I m-mean the p-phone got e-exchanged-d accidentally. I'll r-return it to the own-ner. Don't worry-y," I stammered, the words tripping over each other in my rush to sound less guilty than I felt.

"Ohh, okay. But do you know who the owner of this phone is? It's Taehyung's pho-" the lady started to explain.

Before I could respond, another voice cut in, low and even.

"Ahh, it's okay, I'll hang up now." A man's voice this time.

The line went dead before I could get another word out.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, releasing a long breath. Taehyung. At least I had a name now.

I pushed through the revolving doors again, folder no longer in hand, and made my way to the reception desk, phone held out in front of me like evidence. "Excuse me," I said to the receptionist, "do you know someone named Taehyung?"

Her eyes went wide, almost comically so, like I'd said something sacred. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. I didn't have time to wonder why.

"Actually, I have his phone with me and I want to return it to him-can you please give him this phone back?" I pressed on before she could recover. "Also, he has my phone with him. It got exchanged between us when we bumped into each other, so can you please get my phone back from him?"

She reached out and took the phone from my hands, still looking a little stunned. "Okay, I'll try t-"

A voice cut through the lobby before she could finish.

"Jimin, make a call on my phone-I can't find it."

I turned toward the sound, and my stomach dropped. It was him. The man from the hallway, the one whose shoulder I'd nearly bounced off of an hour earlier. Up close again, in the wide-open lobby light, he looked even more imposing than I remembered-broad-shouldered, composed, faintly irritated in the way of someone who was rarely made to wait for anything.

He caught sight of me, and something in his expression flickered-recognition, maybe, or just mild displeasure at seeing the same clumsy stranger twice in one afternoon.

I turned back to the receptionist. "Please give it to me, I'll return it to him myself," I said quickly, plucking the phone from her hands before she could object. Then I walked toward him, my heart doing an uncomfortable little stutter with every step.

"Excuse me." My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.

He turned. His face was unreadable except for the faint tightness at his jaw-he looked a little pissed, and I couldn't entirely blame him.

"Actual-ly, when we bu-mped into each other our pho-nes got exchanged bet-ween us," I managed, holding his phone out toward him with both hands like an offering.

He didn't say anything. Just gave a short nod and reached out.

I handed his phone over and took mine back in the same motion, our fingers not quite touching. "Thanks," I mumbled, and before he could respond-or not respond, more likely-I turned and walked briskly toward the exit, not looking back until I was safely outside and the cold air hit my face.

Time skip.

I let out a long, tired breath as I sank onto the couch back at the apartment, my bag sliding off my shoulder and onto the floor beside me. My feet ached. My nerves were shot. It had been, without question, one of the most exhausting days I'd had in a while-and none of it had even been about the job I was actually trying to get.

I allowed myself exactly two minutes of doing nothing before I hauled myself back up and returned to the quiet rhythm of household chores-dishes left over from the morning, laundry that needed folding, the small unglamorous tasks that filled the space between one disaster and the next.

Time skip to dinner.

Author POV

She was standing at the stove, stirring something fragrant and warm, when the doorbell rang, pulling her attention from the pot.

She wiped her hands and opened the door. Hari stepped inside, already toeing off her shoes, her whole posture looser than it had been that morning.

"By the look on your face, I can tell the meeting went well," Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

"Yes, and the manager was quite impressed by my presentation," Hari replied, setting her bag down with something almost like a bounce in her movements.

"That's good. Well done," Y/N said, and she meant it-some of the morning's tension easing out of her shoulders at the sight of Hari actually smiling.

"Go freshen up. I'll have the food on the table by then," Y/N added, taking the blazer from Hari's hands and draping it over the back of a chair.

They sat down to dinner a few minutes later, the smell of the food filling the small kitchen. Hari picked up her chopsticks and glanced across the table.

"So, what have you thought about the job? Have you applied for the one at the company I recommended?"

"Yeah, but I've also applied to a few others besides that," Y/N answered between bites.

"Ohh." Hari's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "So did they call you for any interview?"

"I haven't checked yet. I'll do it after dinner," Y/N said, keeping her tone light.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to sleep after this." Hari stood, rinsing her hands at the sink. "And can you wash my plate too? I'm tired. I just want to sleep now, otherwise I'll fall sick-I'm sure of it."

"Okay. Good night," Y/N said, gathering both plates without complaint.

"Good night," Hari replied, already heading toward her room.

After dinner, Y/N retreated to her own room, settling onto her bed and leaning back against the headboard. She pulled the blanket up over her legs-the cold had crept into the apartment early that year, a quiet reminder that Christmas wasn't far off.

She reached for her laptop on the nightstand and balanced it on her lap, opening her email with the particular mix of hope and dread that had become routine by now. Her eyes scanned each unread message, half-expecting another rejection, another polite we regret to inform you.

Then she saw it.

THV Industries Pvt Ltd was calling her in for an interview-Monday, for the position of Personal Assistant to the CEO. The company, the email noted, was looking for someone who could work with complete professionalism, given that the CEO's company was ranked among the very top in Korea.

A slow grin spread across her face, disbelief and excitement tangled together. "Yes. Now the only thing I have to do is be calm and confident," she murmured to herself, staring at the screen like it might disappear if she blinked too long.

She knew her qualifications were solid. She knew she could do the work. The only thing that gnawed at her, quietly, persistently, was the anxiety that crept in whenever she had to face people she didn't know-the way her voice caught, the way her hands trembled, the way she became someone smaller in front of strangers.

She closed the laptop and set it back on the nightstand, then reached over and switched off the lamp, letting the room fall into soft darkness.

"Good night, Y/N," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes, the faint outline of hope still lingering somewhere beneath the exhaustion.

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