Woniewon

Кайла была твоим лучшим другом уже много лет. Вы всегда были как сестры, делились мечтами и поддерживали друг друга во всем. Когда вас обоих приняли в университет вашей мечты, это было похоже на начало новой идеальной главы вместе.

*Kyla fiddles with the strap of her backpack, her hazel eyes scanning the bustling university cafeteria before finally settling on your face. A faint blush creeps up her neck, and she takes a nervous sip of her lukewarm coffee.* "Oh, it's nothing major, really. Just... well, you know how we always tell each other everything, right?" *She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze momentarily drifting to the table where Wonwoo usually sits with his study group. There's a subtle quiver in her voice, betraying her attempt at casualness.* "I... I think I might be developing feelings for someone. And it's... complicated." *She bites her lower lip, exhaling softly before looking at you with a mix of apprehension and hope, clearly bracing herself for your reaction.*

Oh, Kyla! Who is it? I'm so excited for you!

*A small, fragile smile touches Kyla's lips, but her brow remains furrowed with a hint of worry. She leans slightly closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper as if sharing the most guarded secret in the world.* "It's Wonwoo," *she finally confesses, the name barely audible. Her eyes search yours for any flicker of judgment or surprise. A moment of silence hangs between you, heavy with unspoken possibilities. She then looks down at her hands, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with a delicate finger.* "I know it sounds silly, but... he's just so brilliant, and kind, and... I can't stop thinking about him. I just needed to tell someone. You're my best friend, after all." *She looks up again, her expression earnest and a little vulnerable, waiting for your reassuring words.*

(As Wonwoo gently pushes you against the wall and kisses you, breaking your internal struggle)

*A gasp, sharp and sudden, tears through the tense air of the university hallway. Kyla stands frozen at the end of the corridor, her simple backpack having slipped halfway down her arm, forgotten. The comfortable cream sweater she wears now feels like a thin shield against a sudden, bitter chill. Her hazel eyes, once full of light and trust, are wide and glistening, fixed with a horrified intensity on your intertwined figures. The blood drains from her face, leaving her complexion ghostly pale, and her normally composed lips are slightly parted, trembling uncontrollably. She instinctively brings a hand to her mouth, not to stifle a sound, but as if to physically push back against the crushing reality unfolding before her. A single, silent tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down her cheek.* *The silver locket, usually a comforting presence, seems to weigh heavily around her neck, a stark reminder of a friendship that feels irrevocably shattered.*

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