The world felt as if it had been stripped of its color. I stood on the cold pavement, the neon lights of Seoul blurring into meaningless streaks of light. My hand was still half-raised, reaching for a ghost, reaching for the woman who had just looked at my soul and called it a lie.
The words "Stop bothering me" echoed in my skull like a rhythmic torture. I felt a surge of desperate energy—a need to run after her, to grab her shoulders and tell her that I wasn't a predator, that I didn't know how to "pick and throw" a human heart.
I took a sharp, impulsive step toward the hotel doors.
"Sir, wait!"
A hand caught my sleeve—not hers, but Sanvi's. I spun around, my breath coming in jagged, painful hitches. My eyes were wild, searching their faces for an explanation to the nightmare that had just unfolded.
Sanvi and Anvi looked devastated. They weren't angry with me; they were mourning for her.
"Please, don't go after her right now," Sanvi whispered, her voice soft and pleading, trembling with a secret weight. "We know how those words sounded. We are so sorry for her cruelty, Woonseok. Please... don't mind it. Don't hate her."
"How can I not mind it?" I rasped, my voice breaking. "She thinks I'm a monster. She thinks I'm using her for a game. Is that all I am to her? A bored celebrity looking for a toy?"
"No!" Anvi cried out, stepping closer. "She is a beautiful soul. She is the kindest person we know. She loves us like a soul sister, she protects us, she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders... but there is a ghost living inside her. There is a trauma she is still living with every single day. We have been trying to help her heal, but some wounds are deeper than anyone can see."
The anger in my chest vanished, replaced by a wave of cold, numbing shock. My heartbreak shifted, turning into a hollow ache of realization.
"Did someone hurt her?" I asked, the words feeling like lead on my tongue. "What happened to her back in India? Who made her believe that love is just a trap?"
"The tragedy of a broken heart isn't just the pain of the loss; it's the way it rewrites the dictionary of the soul, turning the word 'kindness' into 'danger' and 'love' into 'destruction'."
Before they could answer, a voice drifted from the hotel entrance—a voice that was trembling, thin, and laced with a terrified, childlike vulnerability.
"Sanvi? Anvi?"
It was Sana. She was standing just inside the glass doors, her silhouette looking small and fragile against the harsh lobby lights. She wasn't the "Officer" anymore. She was just a girl who was drowning.
"We have to go," Sanvi whispered urgently, looking back at her friend. She turned to me one last time, her eyes pleading. "Please, Sir... just remember one thing. She loves you the most in this world. We've seen her posters, we've seen her cry to your songs when she thought we weren't looking. She isn't running from you. She's running from the fear of how much she loves you."
They turned and hurried toward the doors, disappearing into the hotel.
I stood there, frozen on the sidewalk. I felt like a puzzle that had been scattered across the pavement. The Sana I had seen tonight was terrified, a wounded bird fluttering against the bars of a cage I couldn't see.
Why? What could have happened to a woman so strong that she could be reduced to this?
"Sir! Woonseok-ah!"
Min-ho appeared beside me, his face a mask of professional anxiety. He looked around the street, his eyes scanning for cameras or fans. "Sir, please, we have to go. If someone recognises you standing here like this, we'll be in a scandal by morning. The car is still running. Please."
I didn't move. I didn't even look at him. I stayed rooted to the spot, my gaze fixed on the upper floors of the hotel, imagining her behind one of those glowing windows, weeping in the dark.
"She's bleeding, Hyung," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the city.
"What? Who?" Min-ho asked, confused.
"Sana," I said, finally looking up at the moon—the same moon we had watched from the tower. "She's bleeding from a wound I didn't cause, but I'm the one holding the knife she's afraid of."
"To love someone who is broken is to realize that you cannot fix them with your light; you can only stand in the dark with them until they remember how to find their own."
"Sir, let's just go," Min-ho pleaded, tugging at my arm.
I let him lead me back to the car. I sat in the driver's seat, but I didn't start the engine. I just sat there in the silence, the city of Seoul suddenly feeling like a very lonely place. I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the small paper bag—the one containing the silver star she had given me.
I gripped it so hard the edges of the metal bit into my palm.
She told me to stop bothering her. She told me to stay away.
"But a star doesn't stop shining just because the sky is cloudy, Butterfly," I whispered to the empty car.
I didn't know her past. I didn't know anything about who had broken her. But I knew one thing: I wasn't going to let her leave Korea believing that love was a lie. I had forty-eight hours left to prove to her that a "celebrity" could be a man, and a "fan" could be the centre of his universe.
"Hyung," I said, my voice cold and determined as I finally turned the key.
"Yes, Woonseok?"
"Cancel everything for the next two days. I don't care about the meetings. I don't care about the rehearsals. If the agency sues me, let them."
I looked at the hotel one last time, my eyes burning with a new kind of fire.
"I have a butterfly to save."