The aircraft touched down on the runway with a decisive, heavy bump. The loud, comforting sounds of reverse thrust and the scattered applause of the relieved passengers around us immediately replaced the roar of the engine.
Nine hours. Nine hours that felt both impossibly fast and excruciatingly slow. It was a painful blur of shared silence with Anu and Sanvee, each of us lost in our own thoughts of the paradise we had just left behind.
The landing in India was a complete sensory assault. The moment the cabin door opened, the familiar, rushing wave of thick, warm air hit me. We stepped out into the chaotic beauty of the bustling crowds, the loud chatter, and that undeniable, underlying sense of belonging that only hits you when you step back onto your native soil.
We efficiently collected our luggage—my one normal suitcase, and the other, significantly bulkier bag that was now incredibly heavy with Woonseok's elaborate, stolen souvenirs and protective gifts. Making our way through customs was a blur of stamping passports and hauling bags.
Finally, we were in a local taxi, navigating the intensely familiar, beautiful chaos of the Indian streets. The journey was a whirlwind of blaring horns, bright colors, and relentless traffic. It was the absolute, perfect antidote to the sleek, quiet, and slightly despairing silence of Seoul.
We dropped off Anvi and Sanvi at their respective homes first, exchanging tight hugs and quiet promises to meet up soon to process everything that had happened fully.
Then, the taxi finally pulled up to my own gate. It was a deeply comforting, known sight after the intense, foreign luxury of the last few days.
I paid the driver, juggling my heavy bags with a small groan, and walked the few steps to the front door of my house. I paused for a second, my hand resting on the wood, suddenly feeling the immense weight of the last forty-eight hours begin to lift, replaced by the simple, profound anchor of family.
I knocked on the door.
It opened almost instantly. My mother stood there in the doorway, her face immediately breaking into the beautiful, warm, and utterly familiar smile that had been the guiding light of my entire life. Her eyes, slightly weary but shining bright with love, swept over me from head to toe.
"Sana!" she cried, her voice ringing with pure relief.
She reached out, pulling me across the threshold into a fierce, deeply comforting hug that smelled wonderfully of turmeric, sandalwood, and the undeniable safety of home.
"Oh, my dear, I missed you so much!" she murmured into my hair. "You're finally back!"
I closed my eyes, burying my face in her shoulder, holding onto the simple, non-negotiable comfort of her presence. "Miss you too, Mom," I mumbled, pulling back just enough to look at her face. "How are you? Is your health alright? Did you take your medicines on time? And Dad? How is he?"
She held me at arm's length, assessing me with a mother's keen, critical eye. "I'm perfectly fine, beta. We're both fine, by God's grace. Your father just left for one of his major political meetings—you know exactly how he is, always busy with the party."
"Oh, I see," I said, managing a small, unsurprised smile. Dad's absence for political work was completely typical; his entire life revolved around his career and public image.
I stepped fully into the cool, familiar air of the house, dropping my luggage to the floor with a loud, relieved sigh. My shoulders slumped slightly. Being home suddenly made me realize the deep, physical hunger that the adrenaline of Woonseok's presence had completely masked.
"Mom," I said, turning to her with genuine, desperate longing, "I am absolutely starving. I am craving your food so much. Please, tell me you made something wonderful?"
The exquisite, spicy taste of her cooking was the only final cure I needed for the emotional exhaustion of my forbidden weekend.
My mother was already moving efficiently toward the kitchen archway, the promise of homemade comfort imminent. As I watched her familiar movements, the heavy exhaustion of the journey momentarily lifted, completely replaced by a surge of vivid, beautiful memory from the trip. My face naturally lit up with a genuine, effortless smile—the kind of bright, completely unfiltered happiness that hadn't been possible since before I met Woonseok.
"Mom," I called out, following her slowly to the archway, "it was honestly the best trip of my entire life."
She paused, turning back to look at me with a soft, knowing look in her eyes. "Oh, nice, dear. I could see it in your eyes the moment I opened the door. You look... incredibly happy. Like a weight is off you."
Before I could elaborate on just how happy I was, a sudden, familiar, and highly annoying thwack landed squarely on the back of my head. It wasn't painful, just perfectly delivered with the precise calibration of sibling irritation.
"Hey, idiot!" a loud voice barked behind me.
I spun around rapidly to find my younger brother, Aryan, standing there. He was tall, dressed in a faded, oversized college T-shirt, and sporting the perpetual, half-sarcastic grin of a younger sibling who knows exactly how to push all of your buttons.
"Aryan!" I exclaimed, rubbing the back of my head with an annoyed scowl. "Seriously? I've been gone for two entire weeks and this is how you greet me?"
He completely ignored my complaint, his eyes immediately dropping to assess the massive luggage I'd dropped by the door.
"The more pressing question here is: Did you actually bring something for me?" Aryan demanded, pointing a finger at the bags. "Because if you went all the way to a foreign country and came back entirely empty-handed, I will formally demand that you pay for my next year of college tuition as compensation."
I laughed out loud, the sound completely unrestrained—a joyful, chaotic contrast to the measured, quiet whispers of the luxury penthouse.
"You crow!" I retorted, immediately reverting to our childhood insult. "Is that literally all you care about? Didn't you miss your sister, even a little bit?"
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, his gaze fixed determinedly and stubbornly on the ceiling fan. "No," he said, the denial uttered far too quickly and heavily to be true. "Why would I ever miss your constant lecturing and your ridiculous obsession with military precision? The house was incredibly peaceful without you."
But his eyes totally betrayed him. Even though his face was set in a mask of practiced nonchalance, the slight quiver at the corner of his lips and the immediate way he had sought me out the exact second I arrived told the truth. I knew he missed me fiercely, even if it would literally kill him to admit it out loud.
"Sure, Aryan. Whatever helps you sleep at night," I said, my voice softening with genuine affection. "Now be a good brother and help your fragile, travel-worn sister carry these bags to my room, or I'll immediately tell Mom about the huge dent you put in the car last week."
Aryan's eyes went wide with panic, and he scrambled to grab the handles of my bags without another word of protest.
The incredible warmth of my mother's home-cooked meal—a perfect, grounding blend of rich spices, dal, and familiar flavors—finally chased away the absolute last vestiges of my travel fatigue. Sitting at the small dining table, I felt entirely human again. I was anchored and momentarily free from the heavy tension of the last few days.
After lunch, I retreated to my bedroom, closing the wooden door on the comforting, chaotic sounds of the household.
The room was exactly as I'd left it: neat, simple, highly functional, and completely devoid of glamour. I dragged my main suitcase onto the floor, ready to tackle the mundane, grounding task of putting my clothes back into their proper places in the wardrobe.
I worked quickly, taking out my folded clothes. But as I reached the bottom of the case, my hand brushed against something strange—something heavy and oddly shaped, wrapped tightly in a familiar silk scarf that I definitely didn't remember packing.
I pulled it out, sitting back on my heels, and carefully unwrapped the silk.
I gasped softly. It was the entire, massive Sajaboys merchandise haul. The ridiculously expensive, limited-edition items Woonseok had bought at the mall. The small, intricately carved Demon Blade replica, the rare signed photo cards, the absurdly large mascot plushie. I had explicitly told him I only wanted one or two small items to fit in my bag, but here was the entire, defiant collection, smuggled straight into my luggage.
I laughed, a sudden, soft, emotional sound that echoed loudly in the quiet room. The beautiful thief was busy, I thought to myself, shaking my head. He hadn't just stolen my heart; he had actively sabotaged my luggage with his own stubborn gifts.
Curious and slightly suspicious now, I moved to the second bag—the one that had started empty and was now incredibly heavy. As I unzipped it and pulled the flap back, the full, devastating scope of his last, silent operation was revealed.
The few clothes I had packed were shoved neatly to the sides, creating a small, highly protected shrine in the center of the suitcase. Resting there, carefully arranged, were the very things I had watched him meticulously "steal" from me in the penthouse:
My absolute favorite bottle of perfume, completely sealed and nestled tightly in thick foam padding.
The delicate silver jhumkas I'd worn on our first day, protected perfectly inside a small, expensive velvet pouch.
The bright pink rubber band I'd yanked from his pocket in the hallway, now tied neatly around a beautiful, glossy postcard depicting the Han River at dawn.
And finally, folded perfectly on top of everything, smelling faintly but undeniably of his expensive, intoxicating cologne, was my shimmering emerald saree.
It wasn't just a bunch of returned items; it was a carefully curated box of profound memories. He hadn't just allowed me to leave the country; he had ensured that every single part of my life in his sanctuary came back with me. He had explicitly replaced the material emptiness of my luggage with the crushing, emotional weight of his love.
I slumped back, sitting on the edge of my simple bed, the shimmering emerald saree clutched tightly against my chest. The reality of his parting gestures hit me infinitely harder than any shouted goodbye at the airport could have. His silent message was brilliantly clear: I am sending you away, but I am sending a massive part of me with you.
The true, grueling work of being apart—the actual work of carrying the heavy weight of a forbidden love—had just officially begun.
With my bags finally dealt with and the tears wiped away, I gathered the smaller, less extravagant gifts I had legitimately bought for my family and carried them out to the living room.
My mother was already waiting on the sofa, her eyes bright with curiosity and love.
"Look, Mom," I said, handing her a beautiful, intricately patterned silk scarf I had found in a traditional market. "I thought this color would suit you perfectly."
Her face lit up with pure joy. "Oh, Sana! It's lovely, thank you so much, beta!"
Aryan, predictably impatient, completely tore into his packet, revealing a new pair of high-end wireless headphones. "Not bad, I guess," he muttered, trying to sound cool, but the quick, intensely excited look he gave me was the only thanks I needed.
Just then, the heavy front door clicked open, and my father walked in.
He was a tall man, imposing even in casual clothes, perpetually carrying the residual, heavy seriousness of his intense political career.
I stood up and walked over immediately, giving him a tight, respectful hug. "Hey, Dad. Are you fine?"
He returned the embrace briefly, though his movements were always slightly stiff, his natural reserve always present. He was always in his somewhat cold, calculated mood, but as he pulled back, I could detect the faint, almost invisible softening around his eyes—the subtle sign that he was genuinely a little happy seeing me home safe.
"Yes, I'm fine," my father replied, his voice a low, steady rumble that commanded the room. "Your mother informed me you returned safely."
I handed him his gift: a sleek, high-end leather portfolio perfect for his documents. He nodded once, a gesture of quiet, patriarchal approval, and placed it neatly on the side table.
For a brief, shining moment, the family was complete, happy, and entirely settled.
Then, my mother, flushed with domestic contentment and looking at me with unmistakable pride, made the inevitable observation that completely shattered the fragile peace.
"Oh, God," she sighed happily, clasping her hands together. "Our daughter is seriously mature now. She manages everything so perfectly, she handles her intense career with such grace... I think it's exactly the right time for marriage."
The words hit me like a physical, violent blow to the stomach.
The easy laughter died instantly in my throat, violently replaced by a sudden surge of heat and deeply familiar, suffocating frustration. I had literally been home for less than two hours.
"No, Mom!" I retorted sharply, throwing my hands up in sheer exasperation, my voice echoing loudly in the living room. "I've told you this a million times, I am totally independent and well-settled! I absolutely do not need to be settled into a marriage right now. I have a demanding career; I have major things to achieve in my department!"
The room went dead silent.
Then, my father spoke. His voice dropped to that incredibly cold, definitive tone that always, without fail, ended any argument in our house.
"No, Sana. You have to," my father stated.
His gaze fixed entirely on mine, dark and completely unwavering. "It is the rule of law in this society. It is the rule of our life. You have done your duty to your career and your studies perfectly; now you will do your proper duty to your family."
"But..." I started, a desperate, panicked plea rising in my throat.
"You have to marry whom we choose for you," he finished brutally, his voice slicing through the air, leaving absolutely no room for negotiation or debate.
The air rushed out of my lungs. In that single, terrifying moment, the entire warmth of my homecoming turned to absolute ice.
Woonseok's deep voice, Woonseok's handsome face, Woonseok's desperate, forbidden love—it all flashed violently behind my eyes. The rule of law. My father's unyielding command was the final, devastating barrier of our forbidden love story.
God, please help me, I thought, my mind spinning into pure, unadulterated panic. How could I ever marry a stranger when my soul belonged to a man thousands of miles away?
Before I could form another single syllable of protest, my father checked his expensive watch, the political clock immediately overriding the domestic crisis. He retrieved his new leather portfolio.
"I have to leave now," he announced briskly to the room. "Another major meeting with the committee. We will discuss this marriage further next week when I have time."
And just like that, he turned and left the house again for his work, leaving behind the heavy, suffocating, and silent decree that perfectly defined the tragic conflict of my life.
I was entirely, hopelessly trapped between the formidable man who demanded my duty and the extraordinary man who commanded my heart.
I stood completely frozen in the living room, feeling the cold, final weight of my father's command settle heavily over my shoulders. The joy of the homecoming was entirely extinguished, instantly replaced by the crushing, familiar pressure of societal expectations and family duty.
The only escape I knew was to flee the domestic sphere entirely.
I turned back to my mother, who was still standing by the table, deep concern and confusion clouding her face.
"Mom," I said, my voice deliberately firm, aggressively masking the frantic, terrified planning racing through my head. "I have to go back to work tomorrow. My senior officer called while I was away. So much has been pending in the department, I have to go do it all."
She frowned deeply, immediately stepping closer. "Tomorrow? But Sana, you literally just arrived today! What about your jet lag? And the rest of your leave? Why is it in so much of a hurry?"
"I have to be on duty, Mom," I insisted, injecting a tone of absolute professional finality into my voice that usually worked to silence her objections. "I've taken a week of holiday, which was more than enough for them. I have to go back to the station. There are major reports, there is strategic planning... I have to do my work also."
It wasn't a total lie, but it definitely wasn't the whole truth. The real reason was that my father's heavy mention of arranged marriage had immediately activated the deepest, most urgent survival instinct in my body: escape back to the safety of work before the cage could be locked.
I gave her a quick, tense, but reassuring hug. "Don't worry. It's just a few intense weeks of backlog. I'll call you every single day."
I didn't wait for her to argue further. I retreated swiftly down the hall to my bedroom, closing the door firmly and locking it, sealing myself off from the terrifying domestic demands.
I placed the phone face-down on my desk with a sigh and pulled out my heavy work laptop. The beautiful emerald saree lay discarded on the edge of the bed, a stark, shimmering contrast to the drab, serious reality of the police files that now filled my screen.
Hours bled into the evening.
By the time I finally looked up from the endless reports, it was already 8:00 PM in India, which meant it was nearing 11:30 PM in Seoul. I was still sitting at my desk in my room, my laptop open and humming. My hair was tied up in a messy, careless bun, and my freshly ironed officer uniform was laid out neatly on the bed, waiting for tomorrow. I was completely shifting back into officer mode.
Suddenly, I remembered. Oh, I have to send a message to him to properly say goodnight!
I quickly opened the messaging app on my laptop and typed: Reached safe and fine. Working late. Miss you.
Less than two seconds after I hit send, a loud ringtone shattered the quiet of my room. An incoming video call from him.
I scrambled to hit accept, my heart leaping into my throat.
The screen flickered, and then there he was.
"There you are, Butterfly," Woonseok breathed out, his voice a little rough with exertion and a profound, aching tenderness. "You were silent for entirely too long."
I felt the absolute last of the day's stress—the heavy duty, the frustrating arguments, the terrifying fear of the marriage talk—completely evaporate in the blinding face of his reality.
"Heyyyyyyy!" I exclaimed, my voice instantly bright and utterly unrestrained, a massive smile breaking across my face. I adjusted the webcam slightly, laughing softly. "I'm back here! See? Just as promised, safely delivered to the land of intense domestic warfare."
He leaned closer to the camera, his dark eyes searching my face hungrily, his expression softening into pure devotion. "I know," he whispered, his eyes filled with a love so potent it felt like a physical touch through the screen. "I was working like an absolute maniac all day because you commanded it, but I desperately needed to see your face tonight. Are you actually safe? Did you survive the inevitable interrogation by the elders?"
"Interrogation perfectly survived," I confirmed, letting out a breath and allowing him to see my genuine, exhausted relief.
Then I sighed, gesturing vaguely toward the massive stack of files and my uniform on the bed behind me. "But Mr. Idol, I will get so incredibly busy this week because of my extra holidays I have taken. There will be so much pending work already at the department, as you can see me now, basically drowning in files."
I leaned my chin on my hand, looking at him closely through the screen. "But forget about my boring work for a second. What about you? Where are you right now? Are you finally home, or are you still at the company? I think you look exhausted."
Woonseok ran a tired hand through his slightly damp, messy hair, adjusting his phone so I could see the sleek, dimly lit background behind him. He wasn't in his penthouse.
"I am still at the agency, Butterfly," he sighed, his deep voice vibrating through the laptop speakers. "I just finished a four-hour vocal recording session, and they want me back in the dance studio in twenty minutes to review choreography for the upcoming tour."
He leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a mixture of immense pride and deep longing. "So, Officer Sana is officially back on duty tomorrow, huh? I see the uniform on the bed."
"Yes," I nodded firmly. "Back to reality."
The video call was a fragile, glowing bridge connecting my chaotic, file-strewn bedroom in India to the sleek, brightly lit dance studio in Seoul.
Woonseok was looking at me through the screen, his dark eyes filled with that familiar, devastating warmth. He had just told me to conquer my world tomorrow, his voice a low, protective rumble that made my heart ache.
But as I looked at him—at his exhausted, beautiful face, and the damp hair clinging to his forehead after a gruelling day of rehearsals—a heavy, suffocating knot tightened in my throat. I had to tell him. I couldn't let him wake up tomorrow expecting my usual morning text, only to be met with dead silence.
I bit my lower lip, my fingers nervously twisting the edge of my uniform shirt that lay beside me on the bed.
"Woon..." I started, my voice suddenly incredibly small. I stopped, the hesitation practically choking me.
Woonseok's expression changed instantly. The relaxed, teasing boyfriend vanished, immediately replaced by a hyper-aware, sharply focused man. He leaned closer to the screen, his brows furrowing deep.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice instantly dropping all traces of exhaustion, replaced by a sharp, urgent edge. "Butterfly, what's wrong? You look like you're about to cry. Did something else happen with your family?"
"No, no, it's not that," I lied quickly, forcefully pushing the terrifying memory of my father's marriage decree into the deepest, darkest vault of my mind. I couldn't burden him with that right now. Not when I had this to drop on him.
I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing myself to look directly into his digital eyes.
"Woon... actually, my senior officer called me this evening for a reason," I began, my words rushing out in a nervous tumble. "I... I got assigned to a really serious case. Like, highly classified and extremely sensitive. Because of that, I think I'm going to be so, so much busy starting tomorrow morning."
Woonseok remained perfectly still, listening intently, his face unreadable.
"You know how it is," I continued desperately, gesturing to the mountain of files around me. "Being an officer... it's not just a regular job where I can clock out at 5 PM. When a serious case hits, there's so much to do. Fieldwork, interrogations, midnight raids, endless reporting... it completely takes over."
I swallowed hard, finally forcing the actual knife into the conversation.
"Um... what I want to say is... I don't think I'll be able to talk to you for a while. Maybe for a week. Or... or maybe even fifteen days. I honestly don't know how much time it will take to close this."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Woonseok's eyes widened drastically, a flash of pure, unadulterated shock breaking through his composed features. He physically recoiled from the phone, running both of his large hands fiercely through his hair.
"A week?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a mixture of disbelief and immediate dread. "Fifteen days? Sana, are you actually out of your mind? You're telling me I can't hear your voice or get a single text for half a month?"
"I am so sorry!" I practically begged, leaning closer to the laptop, my hand resting flat against the screen as if I could somehow touch his face. "Woon, please, look at me. I'm so sorry. I know this is terrible, especially right after we just separated. But this case... it demands total radio silence. I won't even have my personal phone on me during the operations."
He let out a harsh, frustrated breath, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, the shock had morphed into a dark, suffocating fear.
"A 'serious case'," he quoted bitterly, his jaw clenching. "Sana, you are a police officer in a dangerous field. When you say 'serious', it means you are putting yourself in danger. Do you have any idea what it's going to do to me, sitting thousands of miles away in a pristine recording studio, knowing you are out there in the dark and I can't even text you to ask if you are breathing?"
My heart shattered at the raw terror in his voice. This was the brutal, agonizing tax of loving a woman in uniform.
"I know," I whispered, tears finally pooling in my eyes. "I know it's unfair to you. But I promise, Woonseok, I will update you whenever I safely can. If I get even a five-minute break in a secure location, I will drop you a message. Okay? So please, please don't worry yourself sick. I am highly trained for this. I will be safe."
He didn't look convinced. He stared at me through the screen, his eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive need to protect me—a need he was entirely powerless to act upon.
"But..." I added quickly, my voice firming with a desperate, emotional command. "If I can't update you... if I go totally silent... you still have to update me. Okay?"
Woonseok frowned, looking at me in slight confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it," I said fiercely, tapping the desk. "Even if I don't reply, even if my phone is off for ten straight days, I want to turn it on eventually and see your messages. I want you to send me photos of your meals. I want you to tell me if your throat hurts after recording. Tell me if Min Ho is annoying you. Send me your selcas from the dance practice. Tell me about your day."
A single tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away. "Because Woon... when I am out there dealing with the absolute worst of the world, your updates, your face, your normal life... that will be my only lifeline. That will be the only thing keeping me sane. You have to promise me you won't stop talking to me, even if I'm not talking back."
The anger and frustration completely drained from Woonseok's face, leaving behind an expression of such profound, earth-shattering love that it stole the very breath from my lungs.
He moved closer to his phone, his dark eyes shimmering with his own unshed tears. He looked at me not just as a girlfriend, but as a warrior he was being forced to send into battle.
"You are so cruel, Butterfly," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick with emotion. "You steal my heart, you leave the country, and now you are plunging me into absolute darkness for two weeks."
He let out a long, ragged sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in defeat. He could never win against my sense of duty, and he loved me too much to ever force me to choose.
"Okay," he finally surrendered, his voice a solemn, heavy vow. "Okay. I will flood your phone. I will send you so many pictures and voice notes that your device will crash. I will tell you every single boring detail of my idol life. But Rashi..."
He fixed me with a deadly serious glare, his eyes burning through the digital connection.
"You come back to me in one piece," Woonseok commanded, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his fear. "Don't you dare take unnecessary risks. Don't you dare play the hero if you don't have to. You remember that there is a man in Seoul whose entire existence is currently tied to your heartbeat. Do you understand me?"
I nodded rapidly, a watery, brilliant smile breaking through my tears. "I understand, Mr. Idol. I promise."
"Good," he murmured, his eyes tracing the features of my face as if trying to memorize them for the long drought ahead. "Go do your duty, Officer Sana. And come back to me. I'll be right here, waiting."