Write Me In ✔️

Entry 6

✎ Kim Namjoon. He's not real. I wish he was. He sounds perfect. He's really tall. He's very handsome. Stars shine in his eyes. When he smiles he has dimples. He's gentle and he's soft. He likes writing and nature. He likes music and crabs. Crabs are his friends. I wish he was real.

[Her]
Rain falls around me. It spatters on my notebook. It soaks the pages.

I hug the waterlogged book to my chest and gaze out into the dreary park. Water pools along the sidewalks. The clouds above are a never ending gray dome obscuring the world.

Suddenly the rain stops. It stops hitting me. It falls everywhere but me.

My head snaps up and I stare.

I look up at the boy standing in front of me. The boy who is holding an umbrella over me. Sheltering me.

He's really tall. He's really handsome.

I don't know him.

But he said my name. He knows my name.

Does he know me?

His gaze is gentle. It's intense but its gentle. Is that even possible?

"What are you doing here?" He hisses, sliding onto the cold metal bench beside me. He keeps the umbrella over our heads.

I frown. "Do I know you?"

The boy stops and stares at me. His eyes flicker down to the notebook in my hands before back to mine. "What does your notebook say?"

My notebook of memories. The only memories I have. I peek down at the soaked pages. And then back up at him. I shake my head.

"My name is Kim Namjoon," he tells me slowly.

I blink. Once. Twice. "Kim Namjoon isn't real," I whisper. He's made up. A boy of my dreams. Nothing more.

The boy stares at me. Silence drags on between us.

The umbrella falls away from his hands. It lands on the wet ground by our feet with a soft thud. Rain eagerly drenches both of us. It runs down my hair in rivulets. It dribbles down my face and sinks its icy tears into my shirt.

Then his hands are gripping mine. His hands are soft. Just like the notebook said.

They're warm. They fit into my palms almost too perfectly. His hands feel like home.

He brings our clasped hands to his lips until I can feel his warm breath caress my cold fingers. Until I can feel his lips brush against my hands.

"I'm real," he says softly, his voice husky and rough. The way the rain streaks down his face it almost looks like tears. "I'm real."

And for a moment, I wonder whether the water running down my own cheeks is the rain... or something else.

"I'm real."

❀