Two years had passed.
The world had changed, people had moved on, and time… had quietly folded its wounds into stillness.
But some silences never stopped echoing — across oceans, across mornings, across lives.
The alarm blared.
A sharp, emotionless sound that sliced through the quiet of a luxurious penthouse.
A hand reached out. Long fingers, veins visible, strength hidden under exhaustion.
The alarm stopped.
Jungkook sat up, eyes half-open, breathing heavy as though even waking up took effort. The sheets around him were perfectly creased; the bed looked untouched except for his side — as if sleep was a formality, not a comfort.
He walked straight to the wide glass window. The city stretched beneath him New York, shining and cold.
He stood there, bare-chested, the morning sunlight grazing his tired features.
His reflection looked back - handsome, successful, and achingly distant.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t sigh. Just stared.
Minutes later, he was under the shower. Water hitting skin like needles, washing off everything except the weight in his eyes.
Soon after, he walked out in a charcoal-grey two-piece suit, hair slicked, face calm, a man sculpted in silence.
His maid placed his breakfast before him: oatmeal, toast, black coffee.
She didn’t speak. He didn’t either.
The sound of the spoon against the porcelain plate was the only proof that life moved here.
He took one last sip of coffee and grabbed his watch.
Moments later, a sleek black car slid through the Manhattan streets. Inside it, Jungkook sat by the window, eyes on the world rushing past, mind somewhere it never left.
The car stopped in front of the tall, mirrored tower of SJJ Pvt. Ltd.
As he walked in, employees straightened up instantly. Heads bowed. Whispers fell silent.
Fear. Respect. Awe. For the CEO.
Everything followed him like a shadow.
He entered the elevator, pressing the button for the 18th floor.
Silence again.
Just the soft hum of the elevator rising.
The doors slid open — and with that sound,
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
A smaller alarm rang in a cozy California apartment.
Saga groaned, her messy hair falling over her face as she fumbled for the clock.
She finally found it, pressed the button, and sat up on the bed, blinking at the sunlight streaming through white curtains.
Her lips curved into a soft, sleepy smile.
“Good morning,” she whispered to herself… and then softly again,
“Good morning… to you too,”
to no one in particular or maybe to someone she no longer remembered.
She got up, humming a half-forgotten tune, made her way to the bathroom, freshened up, and tied her hair into a loose bun.
In the kitchen, she made a simple breakfast: scrambled eggs and coffee humming as she cooked, spilling a bit of milk, laughing at herself like every other morning.
By the time she reached her office, her steps were hurried, but her smile was still in place.
She straightened her shirt, took a deep breath, and knocked on her boss’s cabin.
She knocked lightly on the mahogany door.
“Sir, you asked for the documents...” she began.
The words caught in her throat.
Through the half-open door, she saw him leaning dangerously close to another woman. The girl was smiling, lips brushing his collarbone as he laughed, a private, intimate scene meant to be hidden. Saga froze, disbelief rendering her speechless. She felt the air around her tighten, her chest constricting.
“Oh! I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered, stepping back. “I’ll come later.”
The man barely noticed her retreat, absorbed in the other woman’s touch. But the girl’s eyes followed Saga, a flicker of mischief twisting into malice.
Minutes passed. Then the storm hit.
The woman stormed into the open office space where Saga was calmly preparing for her day. Her voice cut through the hum of keyboards and printers like a blade:
“She’s been making moves on him. I saw how she looks at him trying to seduce you in your office!”
Saga froze, heart hammering. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, the accusation was absurd, impossible, yet the seed of doubt had been planted.
Her boss emerged from his cabin, lips pursed, his tone colder than the winter air outside.
“Saga, my office has strict rules. I cannot allow anyone here to behave in a manner unbecoming of a professional. Your actions, as I have been informed, are inappropriate.”
Saga’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Sir… that’s not true! I came here to submit the files.... I’ve never....”
“Silence!” His hand slammed against the edge of the desk, shaking the papers. “You are accused of attempting to manipulate and seduce me, in the presence of witnesses. Do you deny it?”
Saga’s chest tightened. Her voice, usually calm and controlled, trembled with raw disbelief. “I...this is a lie! I...”
The boss leaned back, his eyes cold, voice rising with performative indignation. “You see, I cannot allow this behavior. The reputation of this office… your conduct is unacceptable. I had no choice but to act decisively.”
He gestured vaguely toward the door. Saga’s stomach churned as whispers began circulating, coworkers glancing at her with suspicion, some masking smirks behind polite smiles.
The woman, the one who had orchestrated this, gave Saga a triumphant look, lips curling as though she had just delivered a death sentence.
Saga’s mind raced. She realized that any defense she tried to mount would sound like denial, and any explanation would be drowned out by the false narrative already planted.
Her pulse pounded. Her heart ached, not just for the betrayal, but for the humiliation professional and personal. She took a slow, measured breath. Then, with all the grace she could muster, she straightened her shoulders, her voice firm despite the tremor with a hint of value for self respect:
“Sir… then I am resigning. My values will become a barrier to me to visit this place or even see your face again in future.”
A stunned silence fell over the room. The boss blinked, and the women clearly enjoying the show. The coworkers froze. .
Saga walked out, heels clicking like the countdown of her dignity leaving the room. Each step was heavy, yet composed, her mind locked in a whirlwind of grief, anger, and disbelief.
Outside, her steps faltered.
She hailed a cab, got in, and sat quietly by the window.
The city blurred outside, her reflection flickering like a dream she couldn’t hold anymore.
Her eyes, wide with unshed tears, slowly closed.
Knock.
Knock.
Jungkook’s eyes opened. The same stillness.
“Come in,” he said, voice calm yet detached.
An employee stepped in nervously, files in hand.
“Sir, we’ve received ten applications so far for the personal assistant post. Should we close the form now?”
Jungkook leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen once.
“No,” he said quietly. “Close it tomorrow morning, just before the interviews begin.”
“Yes, sir.” The man nodded and left.
Jungkook looked back at the window, the city beneath him reflecting like glass shards.
And somewhere, far away in another city bathed in sunlight, a girl sat in a cab, eyes still shut, both of them breathing the same silence of almost remembering something they never forgot.
.
.
.
.
.
See you guys in next chapter.
Till then love you guys...
💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕
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Recalling Affection
RandomFor Jeon Jungkook, love isn't just a feeling-it's his very reason to exist. When the woman who holds his heart forgets him, he sacrifices everything-his identity, his social existence, and even his reality-to journey through a time lapse and bring h...
