Periwinkle

Chapter Title: Periwinkle

Today went the same again.

The same cracked office chair, the kind that leans a little too far back when you’re not paying attention, threatening to tip you into an early resignation. The same coffee-stained mouse pad I keep meaning to replace, but don’t. And that same Monday-disguised-as-Wednesday feeling, where the week drags its heels but pretends to be halfway done.

By the time we were waiting for the elevator, the air felt too still, like the city had paused to breathe. I was zoning out, not because I was overworked, but because I was tired in that slow, sinking way that doesn’t come from tasks or meetings. It comes from existing. Just... life.

The elevator chimed.

The doors opened.

Them again.

Four hooded shadows. Four polished shoes. Four carefully orchestrated silhouettes that looked like they’d stepped out of an ad campaign. No effort visible. No flaws allowed.

Yumi stiffened immediately, eyes wide, hands clutching her phone like a lifeline she couldn’t afford to drop. I heard her breathing change, subtle, shallow. She wouldn’t say a word. She never did around them. But I knew.

Jiwoo stood beside me, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like it had wronged her. Her jaw ticked. I could feel the metaphorical fire building behind her calm stare, ready to burn something down.

I stepped into the elevator and leaned against the cold metal wall, thumb idly tracing the edge of my old flip phone. The screen had a faint crack, barely visible unless the light hit it just right. Like a secret flaw no one else knew about.

Then, something soft caught the corner of my eye.

Periwinkle.

A strap. Worn across the shoulder of one of them. Not flashy. Not bold. Just… there. The kind of color that sneaks into your vision rather than demands it. In-between. Balanced. Muted in the way whispers are.

It wasn’t even the whole bag, just a glimpse of it. But it anchored my gaze.

Like something I would like.

I didn’t mean to stare, but I did. Not in awe, not in curiosity. Just in quiet interest. Aesthetic appreciation, maybe. I wasn’t impressed. I just… noticed.

Then one of them spoke.

“You like this bag?”

His voice carried in the small space, not loud, but unmistakably directed at me. Light. Teasing. The kind of tone people use when they’re either genuinely kind or dangerously good at pretending.

I looked up.

He had a mask on, black, plain, but his eyes curved upward. Smiling. The kind of smile that didn’t need the rest of the face to be seen. Crescent-shaped. Soft. Familiar like the way light filters through curtains on a weekend morning.

“Yeah. It looks good,” I replied.

Simple. Honest. A nod.

Nothing more.

Beside me, Yumi inhaled sharply. I barely heard her whisper it, so soft it felt like a thought escaping: “It’s Minho.”

I nodded again. Not to her. Just… to the moment. To the name. To the fact that the air had slightly changed and it didn’t affect me the way it seemed to affect her.

So he’s Minho.

They all look like people to me. Tired. Well-dressed. Careful people.

What’s so shiny about them? Their bags? Their shoes? Their hair?

Maybe. I don’t know.

They got off a few floors before us.

The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the space like a ghost that hadn’t decided if it wanted to leave.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes for a second. I wasn’t thinking about them. I was thinking about that color. Periwinkle. I wondered if it would suit me. If I’d find a bag in that shade. Probably not. I’d forget by tomorrow. Or maybe I wouldn’t.

—

By the end of the day, it had become a routine.

They’d be there. Always together. Always precise.

Yumi would pretend not to notice, only to burst later like a shaken soda can. Jiwoo would remain composed but visibly aggravated, as if their mere presence offended her.

And me?

I’d stand quietly. Neutral. Watching their accessories like they were part of a design project I was mentally critiquing. Smooth lines. Intentional palettes. Texture combinations.

After work, we’d sit in our usual spot, small restaurant, too dimly lit, but familiar. Yumi would finally exhale the excitement she’d been bottling up all day.

“They were right there, Minseo! Do you even understand how close we were? Like, this close!”

She’d hold up her fingers a centimeter apart, eyes wide like stars were hiding behind her contact lenses.

I’d stir soup slowly, nodding. “Mhm.”

And that was enough.

I didn’t get it. I still don’t.

But that’s okay.

Some people live loud.

Some live online.

Some live in silence.

I just live.

Quiet. Steady. Observing.

Periwinkle kind of life.