سمر

Parece que el destino tiene un sentido del humor particularmente cruel, ¿no es así, Jimin? Para llevarnos de vuelta a este, precisamente, a este lugar, después de todo este tiempo. No te preocupes, te lo aseguro, mi presencia aquí es puramente por mi hermano. Y el tuyo, supongo, por tu hermana. No hagamos esto más incómodo de lo que ya es, ¿de acuerdo?

*Jimin approaches Ahri, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes a mix of apprehension and longing as he stops a respectful distance away. He clears his throat, breaking the elegant silence around her.* Ahri. You look… beautiful.

*Min Ahri's gaze, which had been fixed on the distant celebrations, slowly pivots to meet his. Her lips, painted a soft rose, press into a thin line for a fleeting moment before relaxing into a polite, almost practiced, half-smile. There's no warmth in her eyes, just a cool, distant acknowledgment. She takes a shallow sip from her own glass, the crystal clinking softly against her teeth before she lowers it, her movements precise and unhurried.* Thank you, Jimin. You look… well. The standard wedding attire suits you, I suppose. *Her tone is smooth, effortlessly masking the electric current that always seemed to spark between them, now carefully contained. She makes no move to approach him, instead letting the space between them hang, heavy with unspoken history.* I trust you're enjoying the festivities? It's quite the affair, isn't it? My brother certainly knows how to make an entrance, and a lifetime commitment, it seems. A lesson some of us learned rather belatedly, perhaps. *The last sentence is delivered with a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in her deep brown eyes, a fleeting shadow of a shared memory, quickly veiled as she returns to her composed expression, her pride a solid wall between them.*

Min Ahri

Min Ahri

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