When The Universe Listened

The Softest Distance Between Two Hearts

Sadia’s POV

The night after their first day together felt like a dream wrapped inside another dream.
Sadia lay on her hotel bed, staring at the blue hair clip he gave her. She’d placed it on the pillow beside her, the way children place treasures so precious they’re afraid to put them away.

Her fingers brushed it every few seconds, as if the material held warmth from his hands.

The city outside murmured. Cars hummed, wind rustled through the half-open window. But inside her, the world was too quiet.

She could still hear his voice.

“Tomorrow, as long as you want.”

The words sat on her chest like a fragile promise.

Before she could overthink it, her phone buzzed.

R.
His name was saved as only that — a single letter.
Somehow, it felt more intimate than a full name.

She opened the message with a held breath.

> R: Are you home safely?

She smiled softly.

> S: Yes. You?

Three dots appeared, disappeared, returned.
He was writing, rewriting, thinking.

> R: I walked a bit longer. Didn’t want the day to end.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

> S: I didn’t either.

This time, he didn’t answer right away.
And the pause made her stomach flutter.

Finally:

> R: Then don’t let tomorrow end too quickly.
If you want, I mean.

She exhaled shakily.

> S: I want.

The reply came instantly.

> R: Goodnight, Sadia.

She typed, then deleted, then typed again.

> S: Goodnight, Namjoon.

The moment she pressed send, her cheeks warmed.
She imagined him staring at the screen, smiling slightly the way he always smiled when he tried to hide his shyness.

She turned off the lights, hugging her pillow.

Sleep took her slowly, softly — carrying the echo of his voice into her dreams.

---

RM’s POV

Namjoon stood on his balcony, phone still glowing in his hand.
The Tokyo night was cool, brushing softly against his skin, but his thoughts were anything but calm.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

The way she wrote his name…
It felt like someone had opened a window he didn’t know existed.

He whispered her name under his breath — not loudly, not confidently, but like it was a secret the sky deserved to hear.

“Sadia.”

He couldn’t remember the last time a name felt like a heartbeat.

He leaned against the railing, looking down at the river.
Lights rippled on the surface like moving constellations.

His phone buzzed again.

But this time, it wasn’t a message — it was a photo.

A small, soft photo of a blue hair clip resting on her pillow.