Jimin

Jimin was your cousin—an unbearably annoying one at that.

Life was frustrating enough until the day your classmates held a reunion. Someone, fueled by boredom and poor judgment, dared him to either marry you or stay underwater for five minutes.

"The marriage certificate is easier," he'd scoffed.

You had laughed, thinking it was another one of his ridiculous jokes. Somehow, between relentless teasing, his shameless persuasion, and the crowd chanting for it, the two of you ended up signing the papers.

Neither of you expected the joke to become legally binding.

For a few days, nothing really changed.

Then your families had a vicious falling-out.

They stopped speaking to one another overnight. No one knew about the secret marriage—and if they ever found out, both of you were convinced you'd be disowned before sunset.

So the secret stayed buried.

Days became months. Months became years.

Somewhere between family feuds, exam stress, birthday texts that couldn't be sent publicly, and silent support from the sidelines, the two of you became constants in each other's lives.

You argued. You mocked each other mercilessly. You celebrated victories together and endured failures side by side.

In every high and every low... somehow, the first person you searched for was always each other.