Choose Me Properly
Chapter 9 – Choose Me Properly
They left the convenience store when the street outside had thinned back into normal.
Not empty.
Just… uninterested.
Phones lowered. Heads turned away. The market returned to its own life, hungry for snacks and souvenirs instead of Mina’s face.
Mina’s friends suggested a change of plan–somewhere quieter, away from the hanok village foot traffic. A small riverside path they’d found on a blog. A place where you could walk without being funneled into crowds.
ABIX agreed immediately.
Crystal, unusually subdued, nodded like she’d learned something about the cost of attention.
Isabelle stayed close to Mina, presence calm and grounding.
Ivan was already checking the route on his phone, quietly plotting the least visible path.
Aleem walked beside Mina.
Not touching.
Not claiming.
Just staying.
–
The riverside path was quieter.
Water moved dark and slow under a low bridge. The wind carried the scent of wet stone and distant cooking smoke. Small lamps lined the walkway like someone had carefully placed pockets of light for travelers.
They walked in a loose cluster, the way groups did when they’d been together all day–some pairs drifting ahead, some falling behind.
Mina’s friends walked with Crystal and Isabelle, talking softly.
Ivan walked near the back, as if he preferred to be the final barrier.
Aleem and Mina drifted toward the middle.
The night was cold enough that Mina’s breath fogged behind her mask.
Aleem glanced at her hands.
She was holding the warm tea bottle he’d bought earlier, palms wrapped around it like it was an anchor.
“You okay?” Aleem asked quietly.
Mina nodded.
A small pause.
Then she said softly, “I’m okay because you didn’t make it big.”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
“I didn’t want to,” he replied.
Mina’s eyes slid toward him.
“Most people… make it big,” she murmured. “Even when they think they’re being kind.”
Aleem swallowed.
He knew what she meant.
Kindness that became performance.
Attention that became obligation.
A moment that turned into a story.
He didn’t want to do that to her.
They walked in silence for a few beats.
The water shifted beside them.
The lamps hummed faintly.
Then Mina spoke again, voice lower.
“I used to think… when it ended, I would be free.”
Aleem didn’t ask what.
He knew.
TWICE.
The stadium lights.
The old life.
Mina continued, eyes forward.
“But when it ended,” she said, “people still looked. Like I still belonged to them.”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He wanted to say something that fixed it.
But there was nothing to fix.
Only something to hold.
So he said, softly, “That’s not fair.”
Mina hummed. “No.”
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, Mina asked, “Do you ever feel like you belong to other people?”
Aleem blinked.
He almost laughed.
Because the answer was yes.
In a different way.
He looked ahead at Crystal’s silhouette gesturing wildly as she talked. At Isabelle’s gentle posture, always tending. At Ivan’s steady calm.
ABIX.
Work.
Family.
Expectations.
“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “But not like you.”
Mina’s eyes softened.
Aleem exhaled.
“I’m always… the dependable one,” he said. “The one who leads. The one who doesn’t fail. It’s not a bad thing.”
He paused.
“But sometimes… it feels like people already decided who I am. And there’s no room to be anything else.”
Mina listened.
Really listened.
Aleem felt strangely exposed.
Then Mina spoke softly.
“Then be something else,” she said.
Aleem’s throat tightened.
He glanced at her.
Mina’s eyes were steady.
Not demanding.
Not teasing.
Just… honest.
Aleem didn’t know how to explain the fear that rose in him.
The fear of wanting.
The fear of choosing.
The fear of making someone’s life more complicated.
Because Mina wasn’t just a girl in Jeonju.
She was still Mina.
Recognizable.
Beloved.
Followed by eyes even when she didn’t ask.
Aleem could handle complexity.
But could he handle this?
Could he handle being the person who stood beside her when the world looked?
Could he handle the responsibility of loving someone who didn’t get to disappear?
Mina slowed slightly.
Aleem slowed too.
The group ahead drifted farther without noticing–voices becoming softer, footsteps spreading out as the path narrowed under a small archway of trees.
Shadows pooled around them.
The lamps here were farther apart, leaving pockets of darkness between pools of gold.
For the first time since the convenience store, it felt like Jeonju had carved a private space just for them.
Mina’s fingers tightened around the warm bottle.
Her shoulders rose, then fell–one controlled breath.
Then another.
And then she said, so quietly the words felt like they were meant only for him.
“I’m scared.”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
He didn’t pretend it was nothing.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence with logic.
He simply turned toward her, the way he turned toward anything he took seriously.
“Tell me,” he said gently. “I’m listening.”
Mina’s eyes dropped to the thin frost along the path, catching the lamp light like powdered sugar.
“I’m scared of… starting something,” she admitted. “And then realizing I can’t keep it.”
Aleem’s throat tightened.
“Because of people?” he asked.
Mina nodded once.
“Because of eyes,” she whispered. “Because of phones. Because of… being entertainment again.”
Her voice wavered on the next word.
“Because I don’t want to be collected.”
Aleem felt that sentence in his ribs.
He swallowed.
He chose his words the way he chose foundations: careful, honest, meant to hold weight.
“I can’t promise the world won’t look,” he said. “I can’t control that.”
Mina lifted her gaze.
Aleem continued, voice low, steady.
“But I can promise you this,” he said. “I’m not here to take pieces of you.”
Mina blinked.
Aleem’s breath came slow.
“I don’t want a souvenir,” he said softly. “I don’t want a story I can brag about.”
He paused, then added–quiet, almost tender in its bluntness.
“I want you to be able to breathe when you’re with me.”
Mina’s lashes fluttered.
She looked away for a second, like she needed to swallow something down.
“You say things like you mean them,” she murmured.
“I do,” Aleem said.
Mina’s voice was small. “Even when it’s inconvenient?”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
“Especially then,” he said.
Mina stared.
A silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Full.
Then Mina exhaled softly.
“You’re… different,” she whispered.
Aleem almost smiled.
“Different how?”
Mina’s eyes softened.
“You don’t look at me like I owe you anything,” she said. “You don’t… pull.”
Aleem’s fingers curled inside his pockets.
“I’m trying not to,” he admitted.
Mina’s mouth trembled into the smallest smile.
“It’s working,” she said.
Aleem’s heart fluttered.
The warmth of it startled him.
He didn’t want to ruin it.
So he asked–plainly, honestly–like he was asking for permission to step closer into her life.
“Can I do something?”
Mina blinked. “What?”
Aleem swallowed.
“Can I hold your hand?” he asked. “Just… for warmth. And so you know you’re not alone in this part.”
Mina stared at him.
Then her gaze dropped to his coat pocket.
Then back to his eyes.
Her voice came out quiet.
“You’ll let go if I want?”
“Yes,” Aleem said immediately. “Any time. No questions.”
Mina hesitated for one heartbeat.
Then she nodded.
Aleem pulled his hand out slowly.
He didn’t grab.
He didn’t close distance too fast.
He simply opened his palm, offering it like an option.
Mina’s fingers hovered above his for a second.
Then she slid her hand into his.
Cold.
Aleem’s grip closed gently–firm enough to feel steady, soft enough to feel safe.
Mina’s breath hitched.
“Your hand is warm,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice went softer, almost a smile.
“I’ve been pocketing it like a coward.”
Mina let out a tiny laugh.
A real one.
It loosened something in the air.
She adjusted her grip, and their fingers naturally laced.
Aleem didn’t rush.
He let it happen like a slow agreement.
Mina looked down at their hands, then back up.
Her eyes were glossy now.
Not crying.
Just… full.
“Is it strange,” she asked, voice trembling slightly, “that this feels more intimate than a stage?”
Aleem’s chest tightened.
“Not strange,” he said. “Because this is yours. Not borrowed.”
Mina swallowed.
Then she leaned in.
Just enough that her shoulder pressed lightly against his arm.
Aleem felt it like a quiet claim.
His heart stuttered.
He stayed still.
Mina’s voice dropped to something almost private.
“Aleem,” she said.
Hearing his name in her mouth did something dangerous to his composure.
“Yes?”
Mina’s forehead lowered gently, resting against the side of his coat.
A small surrender of weight.
A trust.
Aleem’s breath caught.
He didn’t move.
He just kept holding her hand–steady.
For a few seconds, the world was only the hush of the river and the hum of lamps.
Then Mina lifted her head.
Her voice was small, but it had steel under it–steel forged from years of people taking without asking.
“Choose me,” she whispered.
Aleem’s throat tightened.
Mina’s grip on his hand tightened too.
“Choose me properly,” she added.
Aleem stared at her.
This wasn’t flirting.
This was a boundary.
A request for sincerity.
A demand for safety.
Aleem inhaled.
His mind tried to do what it always did–run scenarios.
The eyes.
The phones.
The attention.
His own habits of restraint.
And then something quieter in him spoke louder than all the logic:
He was already here.
He was already staying.
Now she just wanted him to stop pretending it didn’t matter.
Aleem stepped a fraction closer.
Not crowding.
Just aligning.
His voice came out low, warm, certain.
“Okay,” he said.
Mina blinked.
Aleem didn’t let the moment stay vague.
“I choose you,” he said.
He tightened his grip slightly, thumb brushing the back of her glove like a promise written in motion.
“I choose you when it’s quiet,” he continued, “and when it’s loud.”
Mina’s breath caught.
“I choose you when people recognize you,” he said, “and when they don’t.”
Mina’s eyes shimmered.
Aleem swallowed, then let the truth become softer instead of sharper.
“I’m not choosing a headline,” he said. “I’m not choosing the girl I watched from far away.”
He paused.
“I’m choosing the girl who gets cold hands,” he said gently. “The girl who likes normal tea. The girl who laughs at stupid games. The girl who wants to walk without looking over her shoulder every five seconds.”
Mina’s mouth trembled into a smile.
“You remember everything,” she whispered.
Aleem’s voice dropped.
“Only the important things,” he said.
Mina made a small sound–half laugh, half breath.
“And what am I?” she asked, almost teasing, almost scared.
Aleem’s gaze held hers.
“You’re important,” he said simply.
Mina went still.
The words landed like warmth.
Aleem lifted their joined hands slightly.
Not to show anyone.
Just to bring it closer to his chest–like he was holding something fragile and real.
“And if you let me,” he said quietly, “I’ll keep making space for your normal. I’ll be the boring part you can rest on.”
Mina blinked.
“Boring?” she whispered.
Aleem’s mouth curved faintly.
“Reliable,” he corrected, letting her earlier word return. “But with consent.”
Mina laughed–soft and breathy.
Then she looked at him with eyes so tender it almost hurt.
“You’re making me… feel brave,” she admitted.
Aleem’s chest tightened.
“I’m not trying to make you brave,” he said. “I’m trying to make you safe.”
Mina’s smile softened.
“And loved,” she whispered.
Aleem’s heart stumbled.
He didn’t deny it.
“Yes,” he said.
A silence.
Then, carefully–because he wanted this to be hers too–Aleem asked again.
“Can I…?”
Mina’s brows lifted. “What now?”
Aleem’s voice went even softer.
“Can I kiss you?”
Mina froze.
Not in fear.
In surprise.
Then she exhaled, long and slow.
“Not for the story,” she whispered.
“Not for the story,” Aleem promised.
Mina’s eyes held his.
Then she nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Aleem stepped closer slowly.
He didn’t pull.
He didn’t trap.
He simply let the distance disappear at her pace.
He brushed his fingers lightly against the edge of her hood first–an almost absurdly gentle touch.
Then, with the softest hesitation, he pressed a small kiss to her forehead–warm, careful, protective.
A kiss that said: I’m here.
Mina’s breath hitched.
When she opened her eyes again, they were shining.
“That was… unfair,” she whispered.
Aleem blinked. “Unfair?”
Mina’s smile widened just a fraction.
“It’s too sweet,” she murmured. “How can I not fall?”
Aleem’s chest warmed.
He lowered his voice, sincere.
“Then fall,” he said. “I’ll catch.”
Mina stared.
Then she laughed–quiet, disbelieving.
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It’s not easy,” Aleem admitted. “It’s just… clear.”
Mina swallowed.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
Aleem’s thumb brushed the back of her glove.
“I choose you,” he repeated.
Mina’s eyes softened.
“Properly?” she asked.
“Properly,” Aleem said.
Mina’s shoulders dropped like a weight released.
Then she squeezed his hand.
Once.
Twice.
Like she was testing reality.
And Aleem squeezed back–steady.
–
When they caught up with the group, nothing looked different at first.
Crystal was still talking.
Isabelle was still laughing.
Ivan was still calm.
Mina’s friends were still chatting.
But Aleem and Mina walked closer now.
Not obvious.
Not announced.
Just… aligned.
Their hands were between them, low and hidden by coats.
A secret warmth.
A private decision.
Crystal glanced back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Why do you look… peaceful?” she hissed.
Aleem deadpanned. “It’s the river air.”
Crystal’s eyes widened. “Did something happen?”
Isabelle’s smile softened immediately, like she could feel the shift without needing proof.
“Let them breathe, Crystal,” she said gently.
Ivan’s gaze flicked briefly toward Aleem.
A silent question.
Aleem gave the smallest nod.
Ivan’s expression didn’t change.
But the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
Approval.
They walked back toward the lights.
And somewhere between the lamps and the distant chatter, Mina slid her hand–still holding Aleem’s–into his coat pocket.
Not because she was hiding.
Because she wanted to be close without inviting the world.
Aleem’s breath caught.
He adjusted his arm instinctively so their joined hands sat warmer against his side.
Mina leaned in slightly.
Her shoulder pressed into his arm.
A small, steady contact that said: I’m here.
Aleem didn’t look down.
He didn’t make it big.
He just let it exist.
And when Mina’s voice drifted up to him–quiet, private–Aleem felt like the entire night had narrowed into one simple truth.
“I’m glad it’s you,” she whispered.
Aleem’s chest tightened so hard he almost forgot how to breathe.
He kept his face calm.
But his voice cracked just slightly on the honesty.
“Me too,” he whispered back. “I’m… really glad.”
Mina’s eyes crinkled above her mask.
She squeezed his hand once in his pocket.
Aleem squeezed back.
A promise.
A yes.
A proper choice.
Under Jeonju lamps.
With two people practicing normal–
and making it feel like love.