Jimin

The rain did not stop from early morning.
The clock showed almost ten in the evening.
Jimin was supposed to arrive two hours ago.
You checked your phone for the umpteenth time.

One message.

"I'll be late."

And nothing more.
When the door finally opened, you didn't even look in his direction.

“Hello,” he said quietly, taking off his wet jacket.

— It's almost night.

• I know.

— Then why couldn't you write a normal message? Is one message enough?

Jimin remained silent. This irritated him more than any excuse.

— Do you even understand how worried I was?

• Understand.

— No. You don't understand. You've been disappearing constantly for the last month. We hardly see each other. If you want to break up... just say so.

He looked up. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he slowly removed the silver chain from his neck—the very one he never took off. He carefully placed it on the table.

• Fine.

He turned and left. Without looking back. And for the first time in two years... He didn't return.

The apartment became unusually quiet.

There was a silver chain left on the coffee table—the same one that Jimin never took off.

You looked at her for a few more minutes, not believing that it all ended like this.

No shouting.

Without tears.

Without trying to get each other back.

The phone was silent.

No messages.

No calls.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Jimin stopped in front of a jewelry store window.

He stared at the rings for a long time before finally opening the door and stepping inside.

"How can I help you?" the consultant asked.

Jimin looked down and after a short pause, he said quietly:

— I need... a ring.

He didn't yet know that he might have already lost the person to whom he was going to give it.