Page 64 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

There, clear as day was a picture of me, in the dress that looked like a storm cloud, in Jihoon’s arms. My skirt was billowed out around my legs. The picture must have been taken while we were dancing right before we left.

Before I even had a chance to process what I was looking at, Hana spoke.

“It looks like a dream, right? But see, that’s the thing about dreams. You’ve gotta wake up some time. Safe flight, England.”

I looked up at her, the blood draining from my face at the glint in her eyes.

She knew.

I’d opted to make my own way home after dropping my pass off at security. Jihoon had promised to finish early, but I still had a couple hours to kill, so I passed the time by making my way back the scenic route, wishing I had more time.

I was sorry I’d miss all the things we’d planned to do. The cherry blossoms wouldn’t be out for another few weeks, and we’d planned to take the cable car up to Namsan Tower, once the weather warmed up a little.

We’d even talked about going to Jeju Island in the summer, before the tour kicked off.

Walking through the city reminded me of all the things we said we’d do, and now we wouldn’t get the chance.

For all the familiar things I saw – the street art, the food stalls, the shops we regularly went into, I saw all the things we hadn’t gotten round to doing.

I tried to memorise everything I saw, taking snapshots in my mind, just in case… in case I never saw them again.

I stopped by the river while I drank an iced Americano, wondering wryly if I’d ever break the cold coffee habit I’d formed since living here, and realising that I hoped not.

Time was getting away from me. Jihoon would be home about now, so I called out for a taxi and headed back to the home we’d shared.

I’d decided not to tell him about Hana just now.

With every step I took away from ENT, the more uncertain I was that it hadn’t just been Hana being weird.

Surely if she actually thought I was in a relationship with Baek Jihoon, she’d have accused me of it before now?

I tried to think back over all our interactions, but honestly, I’d been so wrapped up in my own ongoing dramas, I’d dismissed so much of hers.

So, for now, I let it rest.

I hadn’t realised the packing would present such a challenge. I’d forgotten all of the things I’d accumulated since being here. When you live in a place, I think you stop noticing how much your life expands to fit in there.

When I’d moved in with Becka in LA, I’d always known it was strictly for a year, so I never really bought stuff that wasn’t consumable. My life had fit pretty neatly into two small rucksacks and one borrowed duffel.

Now, as I stood at the foot of the bed Jihoon and I shared, I realised how much I now had that I hadn’t come with. I had a whole new wardrobe from my Pretty Woman moment with Misun, a whole collection of K-Pop merchandise, bottles and tubs of skin care, souvenirs… just random little bits and bobs.

Not to mention the dress I’d worn to the ball, hanging up on the back of the wardrobe door, like the spectre of another life, watching over as this one ended.

I ran my fingers through the soft fabric of the skirt, the crystals glinting in the last light of the descending sun as it fell out of view behind the horizon.

“I don’t have enough bags,” I concluded.

This was an easier problem to focus on, rather than the one where my heart was breaking with every item I packed away. I’d already filled the duffel bag I’d borrowed from Becka.

“Use mine,” Jihoon said, wheeling his hard-shell case in from the hallway, where it had been stored in one of the cupboards.

I snorted. “I can’t use that.”

He frowned. “Why not.”

I crooked an eyebrow and looked at it pointedly. “It’s covered in the designer’s logo. It must be worth a fortune.”

He waved my objection away.

“It was a sponsorship gift. And it’ll make it easier for you to spot at baggage reclaim.”

His mouth raised in the lopsided smile I loved, and if I were just going home for the weekend, it would have made me smile.

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get it back to you,” I muttered, turning back around, pretending to straighten something out on the bed.

“I don’t care about the luggage.”

A moment later, strong arms wound around my waist, anchoring me to him, as if we could stay here in this moment. And, for a while, I let myself pretend, too.

Before long, and with me sitting on the case, we managed to fit most of my stuff into the bags I had.

I’d had to draw the line at the dress. It was just too much. I couldn’t bear to try and squeeze it in. The delicate crystals, the flowing skirt… it deserved better.

“The next time you wear it,” Jihoon said, holding it between us like a promise, “you’ll be with me, because you’ve come back.” His voice cracked and he dipped his head.

I will not cry again . I repeated my mantra again in my head, the phrase on constant repeat. Sometimes it helped, others… less so.

I put my palm flat on his cheek, running my eyes over every contour, every perfect imperfection, and tilted his head slightly so my eyes could hold his coffee-brown ones.

“When I come back.”

My bags were packed and waiting by the front door. My outfit for tomorrow was laid out neatly on the bench at the foot of the bed. I was all done. Now, all that was left was the time we had between this moment and the one that would take me to the airport.

Jihoon had gone out to pick up our final dinner. Of course, I’d asked for fried chicken and beer. I could have anything I wanted, he’d promised. But this was what I’d wanted.

And when he walked back in that door, brown bags under his arms, he found me standing in the hallway, wearing my storm-cloud dress.

“One last time?” I said, holding a grin onto my face with determination and a promise to myself.

So, one last time, we sat on the floor in front of the TV, eating chicken and drinking beer. Me in a dress that looked like a cloud heavy with rain, and feeling like a storm headed for shore.

The End.

For now.