LDR

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Friend Request

Lisa never thought a single notification would make her heart skip.

She was curled up on her bed in Bangkok, her laptop balanced precariously on her knees. The late-night hum of the city buzzed faintly outside her window, but all she cared about was the glowing screen in front of her. She had been scrolling through random videos on YouTube—dance covers, fan edits, little clips of people showing their talents—when she stumbled across a boy singing in a small studio.

Not just any boy.

His voice was smooth, like honey poured into tea. His eyes were intense, yet playful, the kind that made you feel like he was singing just for you. And when he laughed in between takes, Lisa found herself laughing too.

She scrolled down to the comments and typed without thinking:
"This guy’s voice is insane. Who is he?"

She hit post and forgot about it.

An hour later, as she was about to shut down her laptop, a notification blinked on her phone.

[Jungkook Jeon sent you a friend request.]

Lisa froze.

No way.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, almost afraid to touch it. She clicked his profile. Sure enough—it was him. The boy from the video. The singer with the honey voice. He wasn’t some famous star (at least not yet), but he had thousands of followers and videos that racked up views like wildfire.

She bit her lip, her heart racing. Why would he add her?

Curiosity won over fear. She accepted.

...

The first message came only a few minutes later.

Jungkook: Hey, are you the one who commented on my video?

Lisa’s eyes widened. She typed quickly, her fingers fumbling over the keyboard.

Lisa: Oh, hi! Yes, that was me. Sorry if it was weird. I just… really liked your voice.

Three dots appeared. He was typing. Then stopped. Then typing again.

Jungkook: Not weird at all. Actually, it made my day. Thank you.
Lisa: You’re welcome :)
Jungkook: Wait, you’re from Thailand, right?
Lisa: Yep. Bangkok.
Jungkook: Wow… that’s far.

Lisa chuckled to herself. Far was an understatement. Korea and Thailand weren’t just a bus ride away. But there was something in his words—not distance, but fascination.

...

That was how it started.

One message turned into two. Two turned into late-night conversations. Soon, Lisa found herself waiting for Jungkook’s “Good morning” texts—even if his morning was her night. Their time zones didn’t match, but their energy did.

Jungkook was funny, in that awkward, self-deprecating way. He’d send her silly selfies of him making faces in the mirror, followed by captions like: "Model material, right?" Lisa would laugh until her stomach hurt. In return, she’d send him pictures of Bangkok street food, teasing him about how much he was missing out.

"One day," he promised, "I’ll visit. And you’ll have to be my tour guide."

"Only if you can handle the spice," she teased.

"Challenge accepted."

...

Weeks passed like this.

Lisa hadn’t realized how much she’d come to depend on him. When her dance practice drained her, Jungkook was the one who encouraged her to keep going. When he struggled with his training, she was the one who reminded him that his voice was worth the fight.

Sometimes, the distance felt unbearable. She’d catch herself staring at her phone, wishing he were beside her instead of behind a screen. Wishing she could hear his laugh in person, not through speakers.

One night, after a particularly long call, she whispered without thinking:

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like… if we weren’t so far apart?"

There was silence on the line. For a second, she thought she’d ruined it.

Then his voice came, soft and careful.

"Every single day."

The first crack in the wall between them came when Jungkook admitted something.

"I don’t really talk to people like this," he confessed one night. "I mean… I’ve got friends, sure. But it’s different. With you, I don’t have to pretend."

...

One evening, Jungkook sent her a voice note. She hesitated before playing it, her thumb trembling over the screen.

"This one’s for you," he said softly in the recording. Then came the strum of a guitar, followed by his voice.

Lisa closed her eyes. The melody wrapped around her, tender and aching, like a promise made in secret. She listened until the last note faded, tears slipping down her cheeks without her permission.

When it ended, her phone buzzed with another message.

Jungkook: Don’t laugh. I’m shy.
Lisa: …That was beautiful.
Jungkook: Really?
Lisa: Really. And Jungkook?
Jungkook: Yeah?
Lisa: Don’t stop singing. Not for anyone.

Her fingers hovered, then typed again before she could stop herself.

Lisa: Not even for me.

...

It was after that night that something shifted.

Their messages grew softer, more intimate. Not quite confessions, but not just friendship either. Lisa caught herself smiling at her phone more than at people around her. Jungkook admitted he couldn’t listen to certain songs without thinking of her.

"We’re ridiculous," she said once, laughing at their inside jokes.
"No," he corrected gently. "We’re real."

But reality had its claws.

One night, Lisa’s Wi-Fi crashed mid-call. She nearly threw her laptop in frustration, her chest aching like she’d been cut off from oxygen. When the connection returned, Jungkook was waiting, his forehead creased with worry.

"I thought I lost you," he murmured.

"It was just the Wi-Fi," she reassured. But her voice cracked, and they both knew it wasn’t just about the call.

They both feared the same thing: that one day, the distance, the silence, the weight of miles would pull them apart.

"Promise me," Lisa said one night, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Promise you what?"

"That we’ll meet. Someday. Not just on screens. For real."

There was a pause. Then, steady and sure:

"I promise."

And even though promises were fragile things, Lisa chose to believe him.

Because sometimes, all you need is one person, one connection, one spark strong enough to light the miles between two hearts.

And in that moment, across Thailand and Korea, two strangers dared to dream of love that could survive the distance.