Our Past Lives ( Taekook)
Episode 1: Broken Silence
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Hello lovelies welcome to a new story of mine, let us dive deeper into the life a unrequited love.
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Please sit tight because it's quiet emotional 😭
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Thank you all I hope I can see you till the end 🔚
The sun was barely rising, casting soft light across the kitchen as Taehyung tried to focus on the sizzling pan in front of him. His hands trembled as he scrambled to prepare Jungkook’s breakfast just as he liked it, trying to calm the steady thudding of his heart. But the sounds blurred, merging with his anxious thoughts.
In one distracted moment, he barely noticed the edge of the omelet catching in the pan, the slight smoke rising from the overdone edges. Panic shot through him, but before he could fix it, a heavy presence loomed behind him.
Joon jungkook ( E)
“What… is this?” Jungkook’s voice was cold, each word slicing through the air like glass.
Taehyung’s heart plummeted. He didn’t have a chance to respond before the plate was ripped from his hands, and with a crash, it shattered against the tiled floor.
Joon jungkook ( E)
“Answer me!”
Jungkook’s hand was raised, a fierce, silent threat, his eyes blazing. But Taehyung’s voice had failed him, frozen by fear. He took a shaky step back, feeling the walls closing in, his mind blank with panic.
In an instant, the air shifted as Jungkook grabbed a cloth wipe from the counter, its rough texture twisting in his hand. The first blow came swiftly, the fabric stinging across Taehyung’s cheek. He recoiled, stumbling as his pleas spilled out in broken gasps.
Kim taehyung (RO)
“Please, Jungkook… I didn’t mean to— please stop, it was an accident…”
But Jungkook’s face remained indifferent, and his hand continued its calculated movements, each strike harder than the last, the sounds echoing in the silent room. Taehyung’s vision blurred, tears streaming down his face as he shielded himself as best he could.
Through the haze of pain, he could just make out the figures standing around the room. Joon Hee-ra, Jungkook’s mother, watched with an unfeeling gaze, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Joon Seo-joon, his father, leaned against the doorway, observing with detached indifference, as if this were a mere inconvenience to his morning. Even Jungkook’s brother, J-Hope, stood at the edge of the room, his expression unreadable.
And the servants — people Taehyung had seen each day, who served the family as he did — stood in silence, eyes averted or fixed somewhere far away. None dared to intervene.
Joon jungkook ( E)
“Worthless… weak… good for nothing,”
Jungkook’s words stung as much as the blows. Taehyung clung to his own arms, shielding himself as best he could. His heart felt crushed, each strike not only a physical pain but a reminder of his loneliness, of his helplessness. No one here cared. They never had.
Finally, Jungkook stepped back, tossing the cloth aside as if disgusted by the very act. He turned without another word, and Taehyung slumped to the floor, his cries barely a whisper. His body trembled as the tears fell, each one silent proof of his fading strength.
Around him, the others left as quietly as they had come, and Taehyung was left alone in the empty, unforgiving silence.
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How was it hope you all love it 🤩
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I will be waiting for your comment and suggestions 😉
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Bye bye.......
Episode 2: Shadows of Love
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Lovelies are you all ready
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Okay If you are ready give me tombs up to continue in the comments section.
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Okay let's continue...........
The world around Taehyung blurred as he pulled himself up from the cold kitchen floor, his body throbbing with each labored movement. The silence felt suffocating, as if it pressed down on him, reminding him how alone he truly was.
After what felt like an eternity, he staggered toward the small, dimly lit storeroom, a space barely fit for an animal, let alone a person. This cramped, windowless room was all he had known for the past 15 years, his only refuge, his prison. He sank onto the worn, thin mattress on the floor, feeling the springs dig painfully into his back as he let out a shaky breath.
With trembling hands, he dipped a rag into a bowl of murky water, wincing as he dabbed it against his bruises. The rough cloth dragged over broken skin, each touch another reminder of how small and fragile he’d become. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his mind drift, searching for a moment, any moment, of warmth or comfort. But every memory only led him back to this: the bitter reality of his life.
Fifteen years. Fifteen long years married to a man who looked at him with nothing but contempt, who saw him as nothing more than an object to vent his anger upon. Taehyung swallowed against the ache in his throat as he thought of the children he had borne for Jungkook. Two beautiful souls whom he had brought into this world, poured his heart into… yet even they treated him as if he were invisible, unworthy of even the smallest kindness.
He could still hear his son’s voice, sharp and filled with disdain: “You’re worthless, just a servant.” The words echoed in his mind, each syllable cutting deeper than any physical wound. His fifteen-year-old son, who hadn’t even hesitated to slap him, as if Taehyung's pain meant nothing at all.
A hollow ache settled in his chest as he recalled the countless times he had endured the insults, the neglect, the blows. For so long, he had swallowed every harsh word, every painful touch, forcing himself to believe that if he just endured a little longer, if he could be a little better, maybe, just maybe, he’d be seen — loved.
But he was still here, hidden away in this dark, forgotten corner, like an old toy no one wanted anymore. Even his family — his own flesh and blood — had never offered him a sliver of love. He had been a mistake in their eyes, an unwanted obligation they had easily discarded, marrying him off to Jungkook without a second thought.
A tear slipped down his cheek, tracing a path over his bruised skin, and Taehyung let it fall. He had never allowed himself to cry where anyone could see. Tears were a weakness, he had been told, and weakness was unacceptable. But here, alone in this room, he allowed the grief he had carried for so long to surface, pouring out in silent sobs that shook his frame.
Why? Why wasn’t he enough? What had he done to deserve this emptiness, this unending ache?
He had sacrificed everything — his dreams, his body, his heart — all for a family who treated him worse than a dog. He had endured it all, hoping to build a home for his children, to offer them the love he had never known. But they, too, saw him only as something beneath them, someone who didn’t deserve their affection.
And yet, despite everything, he found himself clinging to the fragile hope that one day, something might change. That one day, he’d find a place where he was more than just a shadow, more than a burden to be discarded.
But as he looked around the small, stifling room, that hope felt as thin as the mattress beneath him, as distant as the warmth he craved.
which sin did I ever commit in my past life to be cursed?
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Episode 3: A Heart Left Unseen
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So let's continue..........
Taehyung took a shaky breath as he finished dressing the last of his wounds. Each bruise and scrape burned, but he swallowed the pain, forcing himself up. There was no time to rest, no time to linger in the quiet suffering of this tiny room. He had a house to tend to, a list of chores that never ended. While servants roamed the house freely, basking in luxuries he was never granted, it was his task to make sure every corner shone, every inch of the estate immaculate.
He moved quietly, his footsteps a whisper against the cold floor as he worked. With each scrub of the mop, each sweep of the duster, he pushed down the bitterness that threatened to rise, burying it beneath layers of forced smiles and empty endurance. Every room he cleaned seemed to mock him, reminding him of the life he could have had if anyone had cared enough to see him.
Hours passed in a blur, his muscles aching from scrubbing floors, dusting shelves, trimming the garden, and tidying every forgotten corner of the estate. He had been doing this for so long, it was as if his hands had memorized each crack, each flaw in the house, places he’d tended to a thousand times without anyone ever noticing.
By the time he had finished, the sky was already darkening, streaks of deep blue and gray blending as the evening settled in. His stomach rumbled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since dawn, but he pushed it aside. There was dinner to prepare, and he had to be quick. He couldn’t risk anyone returning to find a meal unfinished — he knew too well the punishments that came with such "failures."
As he moved to the kitchen, he heard the familiar rumble of car wheels on gravel, the sound that always sent a pang through his heart. His children. He knew it would be his children arriving first; they were always home before anyone else. His heart fluttered with a mix of hope and dread, and he quickly wiped his hands, rushing to the front door to greet them.
Yet as he neared the doorway, his movements slowed. He felt the familiar weight of emptiness settle over him. This was his chance — the moment he might see their faces light up, might hear them call him “Mother” or “Mom.” But that moment never came. He couldn’t even call them his sons.
He stood there, waiting, as the car doors opened, and his two boys stepped out, their young faces lit with life and energy. The ache in his heart grew, twisting painfully as he forced a small smile, lowering his head as they approached.
Kim taehyung (RO)
"Welcome home, young masters,"
He murmured, his voice soft, his words formal. He didn’t dare say anything more.
They barely looked his way, their laughter and chatter passing over him like he wasn’t even there. His heart ached as he stood aside, invisible once more. He longed, just once, to hear one of them call him “Mom” or acknowledge him with even a sliver of warmth. He had poured everything into them, these beautiful children who were half of him, whom he had carried and brought into this world.
But they saw him as nothing more than a servant, an invisible presence they didn’t even spare a second glance. To them, he was simply someone who prepared their meals, tidied their rooms, and cleaned up after them. He was their mother in every way that counted, yet he was not allowed to be a mother to them.
The pain was unbearable, a silent, throbbing agony that ate at his heart, leaving him feeling hollow. The most painful part of all was that he could never tell them how much he loved them, how much he longed to embrace them, to kiss their foreheads and call them his sons. He couldn’t show them the part of him that lived and breathed just for them. Every sacrifice, every tear he swallowed, was for their sake — but he could never tell them that.
As they walked past him, laughing and chattering about their day, he remained rooted in place, his heartbreaking silently. He forced himself to turn back to the kitchen, focusing on the tasks that awaited him, each movement a distraction from the gnawing ache inside him.
What was the purpose of it all, he wondered as he stirred the soup pot, his gaze distant and unfocused. What was the point of enduring if the love he gave was never returned, if he was fated to be nothing more than a shadow in the lives of the very children he cherished?
Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. He had grown skilled at burying his pain beneath a forced calm, of hiding the brokenness inside him so that no one would see how deeply he was hurting.
But tonight, as he prepared dinner, the weight of it felt unbearable. He wanted, just once, to be seen. To be acknowledged. To be loved.
But in this house, where he was nothing more than a silent servant, he knew that was a wish that would forever remain unfulfilled.
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