Chapter 3: A Private Reunion
The roar of sixty thousand voices hit Isabella like a physical wave as she slipped through the VIP exit, the bass of the concert still vibrating through the concrete beneath her feet. She pulled her jacket tighter, a flimsy shield against the Seoul night air, and checked her phone for the fifth time in as many minutes. One message, sent hours ago. No reply. But she hadn't expected one. That wasn't how this worked.
Jan had been ecstatic when she'd told him she was bowing out of the concert early. He'd been filming backstage, camera glued to his face, shouting something about exclusive access and the biggest group in the world. He hadn't even looked up when she'd waved goodbye, just gave her a thumbs up and a distracted "Don't get lost" that was probably meant for the camera more than her.
She hadn't told him where she was going. Or who she was meeting.
The café was exactly as she remembered it from the last time—a lifetime ago, or maybe just a few months, it was hard to tell with these things. Tucked between a vintage clothing store and a shuttered bakery, its entrance was so understated you'd walk past it a hundred times without noticing. The only sign was a small brass plaque engraved with a single word: Hush.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
Inside, the dim light wrapped around her like a blanket. Emerald velvet covered the walls in lush folds, muffling sound and swallowing the city beyond the heavy curtains. A jazz trio played in the corner, low and smoky, the saxophone curling through the air like something whispered. The scent of dark chocolate and lavender clung to everything, and there was a single unlit cigar resting in the ashtray beside her usual booth, as if the universe itself had arranged it for her.
She slid into the booth, her back to the wall, facing the door. Old habit. She ordered espresso and waited.
The door opened thirteen minutes later. A figure slipped through, head down, baseball cap pulled low, a black mask covering the lower half of a face that the entire world would have recognized in an instant. The figure paused, scanned the room, and made straight for the booth.
Isabella watched her approach, feeling something shift in her chest that she'd spent months trying to ignore. Jennie's walk was unmistakable—that particular glide she'd perfected on stage, the one that made arenas scream, now compressed into the careful steps of someone trying to blend in and failing spectacularly. Even in baggy clothes and a cap, her energy preceded her. It always did.
"Hey," Jennie breathed, sliding into the opposite seat. She pulled the mask down, and there it was—that face, those eyes, the ones that had stared at Isabella from billboards and magazine covers and, more dangerously, from her own memories.
"Hey yourself."
Silence stretched between them, thick and complicated as the scent of roasting beans. Jennie's hands fidgeted in her lap, fingers twisting around each other like she was trying to hold onto something slippery.
"I was scared you wouldn't come," Jennie said, voice barely above a whisper.
Isabella's espresso arrived, steam curling upward. She wrapped her fingers around the cup, letting the heat ground her. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"You're always here." Jennie looked down at the table. "That's the problem. You're always here, but you're never really here. You know?"
The words landed somewhere sharp. Isabella took a sip of her espresso, letting the bitterness coat her tongue before responding. "That's poetic. You've been writing again."
"Don't deflect."
"I'm not deflecting. I'm making an observation."
"You're deflecting." Jennie's eyes finally met hers, those dark feline eyes that had launched a thousand ships and broken a million hearts. "You called me here. That was your choice. So maybe stop pretending you don't want to be in this conversation."
Isabella felt her jaw tighten. She'd forgotten how direct Jennie could be when she dropped the idol persona—that careful, polished version of herself she showed the world. This Jennie was the one who sat on rooftops and talked about her fears, the one who laughed too loud and cried too hard and loved without any concept of self-preservation.
"You put me in a hard position," Isabella said slowly. "I'm not good at... this."
"This?"
"This." She gestured vaguely between them. "Feelings. Vulnerability. Whatever this is."
Jennie let out a shaky breath. Her hand reached across the table, hovering over Isabella's, waiting. Not touching. Asking.
"I've been in love with you for three years, Isabella." Her voice cracked slightly on the name. "Three years of watching you date other people. Three years of pretending I'm fine with it. Three years of lying to my manager, my company, the entire world—so I can sit across from you in a dark café and beg for crumbs."
"Jennie—"
"No, let me finish." There was steel underneath the tremor in her voice. "I've heard all your excuses. I've respected them, even when it killed me. But you called me here tonight. Not the other way around. So if you're going to break my heart, at least have the decency to give me a reason that isn't some half-baked excuse about being 'complicated.'"
The jazz trio transitioned into something slower, mournful, a saxophone crying through the shadows. Isabella stared at the steam rising from her espresso, watching it curl and disappear into nothing.
"I saw you at that award show last year," she said finally. "The one in Paris. You were standing in the corner of the after-party, looking nervous, holding your glass like you were hiding from someone. I watched you for twenty minutes before I decided to leave."
"You left?"
"I left. Because I realized I was falling for you, and that scared the shit out of me."
Jennie's eyes widened. Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she looked like she'd been struck by lightning. "You... what?"
"Did you think I didn't notice?" Isabella laughed, a hollow sound. "I always notice. That's the problem. I notice everything about you. The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. The way you hum in your sleep when you're happy. The way you glow on stage like the entire universe is watching just you." She shook her head, willing the tears back before they could betray her. "And I'm this—this girl who flies planes and smokes in alleyways and films YouTube videos. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
"Love me back," Jennie said, her voice barely a whisper. "That's all I've ever asked."
Silence. The jazz trio played on, oblivious to the tectonic plates shifting between two bodies at a velvet booth in a hidden café.
Isabella reached for the unlit cigar, turning it over in her fingers, studying it like it held the answers. "I've been avoiding you because I'm terrified. Not of you. Of me. Of what I become when I'm around you."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean"—she set the cigar down, looked up, and let Jennie see everything she'd been hiding for years—"I'm not the cool, collected person I pretend to be. Around you, I'm a disaster. I'm sixteen years old again, desperately trying to get the popular girl to notice me, except the popular girl is the most famous person in the world, and I'm just—me."
Jennie's hand moved, finally closing over Isabella's. Warm. Soft. Real. "You're not just anything. You're everything."
The words hit Isabella like a physical blow, stripping away the walls she'd so carefully constructed. She felt her eyes sting, felt her breath catch, felt the dangerous bloom of hope pushing through the cracks in her armor. She looked at their hands, at Jennie's small fingers wrapped around hers, and realized she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of being the bad girl with the cool exterior and the frozen heart.
"Okay," she heard herself say.
Jennie blinked. "Okay?"
"Okay." Isabella flipped her hand over, interlocking their fingers, squeezing gently. "I'm done pretending I don't want this."
Jennie's face transformed—a slow sunrise of disbelief and joy and something so raw it looked almost painful. "You're serious?"
"I'm serious." Isabella leaned forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Jennie's skin. "But I'm also terrified, and I'm going to mess this up, and I'm probably going to say the wrong thing a hundred times. So if you're going to run, do it now, before I change my mind."
"Not a chance," Jennie breathed.
And then they were kissing.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was the kind of kiss that had been building for three years, a collision of longing and loneliness and all the quiet hours they'd each spent imagining this moment. Jennie's fingers knotted in Isabella's dark curls, pulling her closer, and Isabella felt her own hands find Jennie's waist, sliding up the curve of her back, desperate to erase every inch of distance between them.
The café disappeared. The jazz trio faded to a distant murmur. There was only this—the taste of Jennie's lips, the soft sound of her breath, the way she trembled slightly under Isabella's touch.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Jennie's eyes were shining with unshed tears. She laughed, a watery sound, pressing her forehead against Isabella's. "I've wanted to do that for so long."
Isabella smiled, really smiled, feeling the weight of years lift from her shoulders. "You should've told me sooner."
"I didn't think you'd—"
"I know." Isabella kissed the corner of Jennie's mouth, then her cheek, then her closed eyelids. "I'm an idiot. I know that too."
Jennie pulled back, cupping Isabella's face in her hands, studying her like she was memorizing every detail. "What happens now?"
Isabella considered the question. Outside, Seoul hummed with life, thousands of people going about their ordinary nights, unaware that in a hidden café, the world's biggest star was falling deeper in love with a girl who flew planes and smoked in alleyways. It was absurd. It was impossible. It was the most real thing Isabella had ever felt.
"Now," she said slowly, "I take you somewhere we can talk without hiding. And then we figure out what this looks like. Together."
Jennie's smile rivaled the city lights. "And what about the rest of the world?"
Isabella shrugged, a hint of her old mischief returning. "The rest of the world can wait. For once, I'm putting myself first."
She slid out of the booth, pulling Jennie with her, their hands still interlocked. The waiter appeared, and Isabella paid without thinking, not noticing the confused look on his face when he recognized the woman in the baseball cap, or the way Jennie ducked her head as they passed the jazz trio.
Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain and the distant echo of traffic. Isabella paused, looking up at the sky, the stars barely visible beyond the glow of the city.
"You know," she said, a hint of playfulness creeping into her voice, "I've been on better dates with a billionaire."
Jennie snorted, shoving her lightly. "Shut up."
"I'm serious. He bought me champagne and everything."
"And yet you're standing here with me." Jennie tilted her head, a challenge glinting in her eyes. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."
"I'm not entirely sure it was one." Isabella grinned, pulling Jennie closer by the hand. "But we'll see."
They walked into the night, two figures disappearing into the labyrinth of Seoul, and Isabella felt something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years—hope. Real, terrifying, exhilarating hope.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, squinting at the screen. A message from Jan, complete with about fifteen exclamation points.
JAN: the concert was insane!! where are you?? come back i have a story you won't believe!
Isabella smiled. She glanced at Jennie, who was watching her with a curious expression, and typed back a response before pocketing the phone.
Can't talk right now. Busy falling in love.
She watched the message send, then turned to Jennie, reaching out to lace their fingers together once more. The sky above them was still dark, still full of stars she couldn't quite see, but for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was looking for something.
She felt found.