It was just another Thursday night. You know—average stuff: sequins, vodka, and a Turkish girl shouting at a DJ like she was ordering pizza.

Annie walked into the club like a deer in neon headlights—squinting, stumbling slightly, and immediately bumping into a guy carrying a tray of six Jäger shots.

“Okay, we’re here,” she announced, adjusting her black knitted sweater and tightening the belt around her waist like she was preparing for battle.

Then came the commentary.

“Um, Annie, what are you wearing?” Hayat asked, looking her up and down like a fashion judge from a reality show.

Annie shrugged. “It’s called casual enchantress, thank you.”

Billie squinted. “You look like a confused librarian trying to escape a Renaissance fair.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Annie grinned.

“You shouldn’t,” Billie added, already leading them toward the bar.

The club was on full blast—music thumping like the heartbeat of someone having a panic attack, lights flashing in a way that made everyone look like they were trapped in a badly edited TikTok.

It was a two-floor building, by the way. The ground floor was open to the public—where people like Annie, Billie, and Hayat danced like they were trying to summon a rainstorm with their limbs. The second floor, however, was strictly VIP-only. Covered by sleek, black mirrors from the outside, the public couldn’t see in… but the VIPs? Oh, they could see everything happening below. Like rich, nosy cats watching a party of mice.

They danced. They drank. Annie screamed at a disco ball. Hayat somehow convinced a stranger to do a backflip. Billie got into a heated debate with a random guy about whether or not the Fast & Furious franchise was cinema. (Spoiler: it got emotional.)

Then…the emergency.

Something about Billie’s sister’s cat escaping and possibly joining a cult? Details were fuzzy.

They had to leave.

Annie stayed behind.

She stumbled over to the bar, hair a mess, eyes gleaming with chaotic optimism.

“Another shot, please,” she said.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, are you sure?”

“Listen,” Annie slurred. “If you stop giving me drinks, I might start giving you advice. And no one wants that.”

The bartender poured another shot.

Time slipped by. Her friends were long gone. Her eyeliner had migrated south for the winter. It was 3 a.m., and Annie was now engaged in a deep one-sided conversation with a bowl of peanuts.

Then came the accidental bump.

A man—tall, mysterious, probably in the “do-not-trust-but-very-handsome” category—brushed past her and mumbled a quick apology.

Annie didn’t notice.

Because by then, she was out. Like, power-down out. Her head slumped onto the bar with the grace of a falling lasagna.

The bartender sighed. “This ain’t a bed, lady.”

But Annie was asleep. Not napping. We’re talking REM cycle, dreaming about dancing goats type of sleep.

That’s when someone—some man—gently tapped her back. A calm, familiar gesture. Like an old friend. Or a ghost. A handsome ghost. Who moisturizes.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you home.”

Annie groaned like an old sofa.

“I can’t get up,” she slurred, her face still smushed against the bar. “My feet… they’re on strike.”

The man gently tried to lift her by the shoulders.

“I think I’m glued,” she added.

“You’re not glued.”

“I feel glued.”

“Annie.”

“Oh God, you know my name. Are you my sleep paralysis demon?”

He sighed. She sat up, only to slide dramatically to the floor like a slow-motion pancake.

“This is my new home now,” she mumbled. “Tell the floor I love it.”

“You can’t sleep on the floor,” he said calmly.

“It’s supporting me emotionally.”

He crouched down beside her. “Let’s go. I got you.”

And somehow—despite her limbs being basically spaghetti and her willpower lower than a phone at 2%—he got her on her feet. Mostly upright. Swaying like a tree in a windstorm, but upright.

He held her steady as they made their way to the club’s entrance. Annie kept her eyes closed the entire time, face tilted up like she was trying to absorb the night air through her skin.

“You smell like… like moonlight and disappointment,” she whispered at one point.

The guy just chuckled under his breath. He didn’t say much—but every word was smooth, soft, and annoyingly effective.

The night air was crisp. The street buzzed with late-night energy. A man in a hot dog costume walked by arguing with a guy in a banana suit. Normal.

The guy called a cab.

Annie refused.

She flopped onto a nearby bench like she was auditioning for a soap opera. He tried to coax her into the cab.

She rolled.

Yes. She rolled to the side and murmured, “This bench understands me.”

Finally, she got up. No warning. Just stood and started walking. To the left. Down the footpath. Toward the still-open shops, bathed in harsh, fluorescent lighting that made everything look both holy and deeply unsettling.

She didn’t say goodbye.

She didn’t turn around.

She didn’t even ask who the guy was.

And he?

He just stood there—tall, all in black, looking like a Calvin Klein model with secrets.

Was he someone she knew?

Was he someone she used to know?

Or was he just the universe playing a really good prank?

EPISODE: “Grocery Store Glares and Motorbike Flares”

Annie woke up at 3:47 PM.

The sunlight slashed through the slats of the wooden window and fell across her cheek like a warm slap from a mildly annoyed cat. She groaned, not ready to deal with the real world. The cottage smelled like old sea salt, orange peels, and maybe guilt.

She peeled herself out of bed, limbs heavy, stomach empty—no, worse than empty—betrayed. She staggered to the fridge like a half-dead Sims character.

Fridge contents:

• 1 bottle of water

• 2 regretful lemons

• Absolutely no joy

She stared. “Oh. Not again,” she mumbled, head dropping against the fridge door like a melodramatic movie heroine. “I live like this?”

She washed her face, yanked on her oversized brown hoodie—the one that made her look like a sentient sack of laundry—and wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck like she was protecting state secrets. Cap on. Joggers on. Wallet in pocket. Weak but fueled by desperation, she called a cab.

⸻

Walmart. The One and Only.

She pushed her cart slowly, half-leaning on it like it was a walker. She went straight for the ready-made section: instant noodles, frozen mac & cheese, mysterious curry in a plastic bag, rice that promised to be fluffy in 90 seconds.

As she squinted at the expiry date on a suspiciously pale lasagna, she felt it.

A stare.

Not just a glance. A pull.

Like someone reached into her chest and twisted.

She turned, casual.

A group—four or five—stood two aisles away. Masks, caps, hoodies. One of them held a GoPro. Another tossed ramen into a basket with Olympic-level laziness.

Annie blinked. Ah. Just some vlog boys. The internet’s finest generation.

But one of them…

One of them didn’t move.

His cap was low, face hidden, but his gaze? It licked her skin, warm and slow.

There was something too still about him.

She looked away too fast.

⸻

By the time she reached the cashier, her cart looked like a teenager’s survival kit. She dropped her basket on the counter, sighing. The cashier, a guy with a nose ring and vibes that screamed “poetry major,” began scanning her items.

Cashier (raising brow): “You hosting a microwave convention?”

Annie (deadpan): “Just feeding my demons. They like pasta.”

Cashier: “Same. I name mine Kevin.”

Annie snorted.

Behind her, the masked boys lined up with their own pile of chaos. The guy—the one—stood right behind her. She could feel it. His stare. That familiar… scent?

Like pine and citrus.

And summer nights.

A memory she hadn’t made yet.

Just then, her AirPods rang. Billie.

She answered with a half-smile. “Hey.”

Whatever Billie said made her freeze. Then scream.

Annie: “WHAT? SERIOUSLY, BILLIE, I LOVE YOU!”

The store fell silent for a microsecond.

Cashier paused mid-scan, looking at her like she’d just confessed love to the barcode scanner.

Behind her, the boys froze too. The GoPro dropped slightly, capturing awkward confusion in 4K.

Cashier (still deadpan): “Kevin would kill for that kind of passion.”

Annie (whispering): “I am so sorry.”

Cashier: “I’m not. That was the highlight of my shift.”

She turned—yep. The group was staring. The boy… he smiled.

Just slightly.

Then bowed his head, Korean-style apology. She returned it. Half-bow, half-regret, full-blush.

She grabbed her bags and bolted.

⸻

Outside, Billie leaned against a brand-new matte black bike like it was his prom date.

“ANNIEEEE!”

“BILLIEEEEEE!”

They ran.

She dropped her groceries. He caught her. Hugged her. Spun her like a kid on a sugar high. The parking lot was their dance floor. Annie screamed.

Billie: “We did it! She’s ours! She’s beautiful, she’s fast, and she has no mileage!”

Annie: “Like me before tax season!”

They burst out laughing.

Billie: “Let’s ride her till she hates us!”

Annie: “That’s what she said!”

They laughed again.

Behind them, the masked boy stepped out of the store.

And smiled.

The GoPro was off.

But his eyes were recording.

⸻

To be continued…

The banging on Annie’s door wasn’t gentle. It was urgent, wild—like someone was trying to wake the dead. Which, considering Annie had been asleep for nearly two days, wasn’t far off.

She rolled out of bed in a daze, blanket wrapped around her like a makeshift burrito. The huge wooden cottage—her grandfather’s gift—echoed with the pounding. Annie, half-asleep and fully confused, cracked open the door.

Billy stood there, grinning like an idiot. Beside him? A group of unfamiliar but suspiciously Billy-adjacent guys. And way out on the beach, Hayat was yelling, “Come on, Annie! Let’s go!”

“Wait—what’s going on?” she croaked, voice still sleepy.

Before she could process anything, two of the guys—one definitely Billy’s friend, the other probably just enthusiastic—grabbed her shoulders.

“Hey! Guys, no—what are you doing?!”

Billy snatched her left arm, the other guy took the right. They started walking.

“No, no, no! You are not doing this—guys?! Billy?!”

But they were already halfway down the wooden path stretching over the sea. The waves below shimmered cold and merciless under the morning sun.

“Seriously, you’re not—this is a joke, right?!”

Billy glanced at her, half teasing, half hurt. “Where were you? It was my birthday last night. I haven’t seen you for a week, Annie.”

Her eyes widened. “What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday, Annie.”

She blinked. “I slept… for two days?”

He raised an eyebrow, arms still hooked in hers. “Apparently. You hibernating now?”

Annie’s expression shifted from confusion to low-key panic. “Billy… wait—I can’t go into the water. I really can’t.”

Billy paused. “Wait—what?”

Too late. A silent nod between the guys and splash. Annie hit the sea.

Cold. Too cold.

The phobia hit her like a slap. Her eyes clamped shut. The deep water pulled at her limbs. She flailed—weakly. Her breath was slipping.

“Annie!” Hayat’s voice, panicked. Then a splash—she jumped in. But she wasn’t strong enough.

Billy’s face changed the second he realized—this wasn’t just drama. This was real. He dove in.

Together, they pulled her out—gasping, wet, silent.

Hayat rubbed her back gently. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

Billy tried to speak, but she cut him down with a single look—icy, unreadable. She got up, dripping, walked barefoot through the sand, and slammed her cottage door shut.

Inside, she washed away the salt and the fear. Changed into something oddly comforting—her teddy bear hoodie and black cargo pants. She peeked outside. No one. They were… gone?

Of course. She should’ve known. People leave. They always leave.

———————

The banging had stopped, but the echo lingered.

Annie had walked back into her cottage, soaked and silent, leaving Hayat and Billy behind on the sand. She didn’t slam the door out of anger. She slammed it to hold herself together.

They stayed outside for ten minutes. Just standing there, looking worried—like they knew they’d gone too far. But Annie didn’t open the door.

When the knock came again, it wasn’t frantic—it was composed. She opened the door to a man in a sleek three-piece suit, holding a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other. He looked more like someone who should be negotiating property deals than standing on a beach.

“Are you the owner of this house, ma’am?” he asked, professional but polite.

Annie nodded. “Yes.”

He explained they were here for a one-day MV shoot, and the location matched what their coordinator booked. Then, with a bit of hesitance, he asked if he could sit down for a moment—just to catch a breath. “The sun’s hot, but the wind’s gone cold,” he said, glancing at the waves. The surface shimmered gold, but Annie knew how cold the sea was underneath.

She looked past him and noticed the group behind—five young men, styled to perfection, faces brushed into flawless symmetry, all dressed in layered outfits despite the weather. They had the usual idol look—heavy black eyeliner, pale skin, hair dyed with intention. In Seoul, this wasn’t unusual. Still, it felt surreal seeing them here. Like a screen had bled into her real world.

The manager looked at her and offered her the coffee with a small gesture. “You look cold.”

She hesitated—still guarded, —but nodded slowly. “Okay. Just give me ten minutes.”

Inside, she moved quickly. Turned on her robotic vacuum, fluffed pillows, rearranged the couch throws, lit the soft lamp in the corner. She dragged the summer dust into something resembling comfort. In five minutes, the cold, messy space became warm and inviting.

When she opened the door to let them in, she froze.

She knew that face.

Not just as a stranger or a celebrity lookalike. Not even as a passerby..,

He was him.

Her ex.

They’d only dated for two weeks. A short, strange, fast-burning thing. She had sworn she’d never see him again after he ended it. Said she deserved better than someone who would eventually leave.

Yet here he was, standing in her doorway, hair dyed ash-gray, dressed in layered black. No mask. No shield.

Their eyes locked.

He looked… frozen. His expression unreadable—part apologetic, part confused. He seemed to wonder if she would yell, or walk away, or maybe just pretend he didn’t exist.

But Annie didn’t think about the sea. She didn’t think about Billy or Hayat or the panic that had just wrecked her morning.

All she saw were the fourteen days she couldn’t get back. All she felt was the silence he left behind.

She took a quiet breath, then turned to the manager and stepped aside. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

They moved a few steps away, just enough that the others couldn’t hear.

She pulled out her phone, handed it to him with the contact page open. “Here. My number. Call me when you’re done.”

The manager blinked. “Are you not staying?”

“I have work,” she said flatly.

She didn’t.

But she had to leave.

The manager looked her over a bit suspiciously. She wasn’t going anywhere far. But he didn’t ask questions. Just nodded.

She knew they weren’t the type to steal anything. They were from a big company. Respectful. Professional.

She walked away without another word, trying not to glance back.

This wasn’t about the sea. It wasn’t about the video shoot. It wasn’t even about him.

It was about the ache that always came with being left behind. Again.

He was part of that ache.

And this day?

It would pass.

Just like those two weeks.

Just like the past three months.

Just like everyone else eventually does.