HIS FANGIRL 1

Characters

Kim Namjoon

Age:- 29yrs old

A bestselling novelist known for his soul-stirring prose, poetic style, and quiet intellect. Reserved in public but romantic at heart.

---

Choi Y/N

Age:- 25 yrs old

A part-time editor and full-time book lover. Y/N is witty, observant, and passionate about reading.

AUTHOR'S POV

The blinking cursor mocked him.

Kim Namjoon sat in front of his laptop, elbows on the desk, fingers resting on his lips as he stared at the half-written paragraph on the screen. The sentence was beautiful, poignant, and exactly the kind that would make his editor weep with joy.

But it wasn't right.

Not yet.

With a sigh, he leaned back and reached for his phone-an action his manager warned him against during writing hours. But Namjoon had never been good at staying within boundaries, especially the ones set by people who didn't understand what it was like to fall in love with silence and sentences.

He opened Instagram.

It didn't take long to find her story.

@_ynreads had posted again-this time a photo of a dog-eared copy of his second novel, The Wild Garden. The pages were filled with scribbles in black ink, some with tiny flowers drawn next to paragraphs. But it wasn't the art or even the book that made his chest tighten.

It was the note next to one of his most quoted lines:

> "We are all searching for home in someone else's arms."

Y/N had written:

"But what if we never let them in enough to stay?"

Namjoon exhaled softly.

She always did that. Took his words and twisted them into something new-something raw. Something... honest.

He didn't know when it had started, this quiet obsession with a stranger online. Maybe it was months ago, when she first reviewed his debut novel and casually said she'd cried for three hours, then made tea and moved on. Maybe it was when she talked about walking past someone who smelled like his book-warm, woody, with a hint of longing.

Whatever it was, she'd gotten under his skin.

And she didn't even know.

Well... not yet.

He had sent out a giveaway two weeks ago-five signed copies of his latest book with a handwritten letter tucked in each. He told his assistant to make sure one of them went to a Choi Y/N in Seoul. It wasn't cheating. It was... fate, assisted.

She'd posted a boomerang of the letter last week, with a caption that said,

> "The author writes as if he knows me. I almost want to believe it."

He did know her. At least, the pieces she shared with the world.

Namjoon closed the app and smiled to himself.

Today was different.

Today he was going to the city's oldest independent bookstore for an impromptu signing. His publisher set it up last minute-one of those surprise meet-and-greet things that usually gave him anxiety.

But something told him she might show up.

---

At Willow's Book Nook, the air smelled like paper and cinnamon. The store was small, tucked between a florist and an old record shop. Fairy lights dangled from the ceiling, and handwritten notes from customers decorated the bulletin board near the register.

Y/N walked in, scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, fingers brushing over the spines of books like they were old friends.

She didn't notice the small crowd near the back until someone squealed, "Is that him?"

Y/N looked up-and there he was.

Kim Namjoon. In the flesh. Dressed in an oversized sweater, hair slightly tousled, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked exactly how she imagined he would when writing-soft, thoughtful, a little lost in his own world.

Their eyes met briefly.

Y/N's heart skipped, but her expression stayed calm. She turned her attention to a nearby shelf instead, pretending to scan the titles.

She wasn't going to fangirl. Nope. She was going to play it cool.

Namjoon, on the other hand, was trying not to stare. Was that...?

No. Couldn't be.

He continued signing books, occasionally glancing her way. After twenty minutes, the small crowd dispersed, and she was the last one left. Still pretending to browse.

He approached her, clearing his throat softly.

"Looking for something specific?" he asked.

She turned, blinked slowly, and smiled. "Just something good. Any recommendations, Mister...?"

Namjoon blinked. Was she-?

"Namjoon," he said carefully.

"Hmm." She tapped her chin. "Sounds familiar. Do you write? Or... are you just moonlighting as a book expert today?"

He bit back a grin. "A little bit of both."

She picked up one of his books and opened to the first page. "This guy's pretty popular. You look a little like him, actually."

He chuckled. "I get that a lot."

Y/N looked at him, expression playful. "Well, tell this author that his characters are unrealistic. No one's that emotionally available in real life."

Namjoon raised a brow. "Maybe he's just writing what he wishes existed."

"Or maybe," she said, stepping closer, "he should try writing someone who pretends not to know him just to see how far he'll go."

He blinked.

She smirked.

Their moment hung in the air, suspended like a comma waiting for its sentence to end.

Namjoon leaned in slightly. "You're trouble, aren't you?"

Y/N grinned. "Only for authors who think they know everything."

As she walked away, he slipped one of his books off the nearby display and slid a pen from his pocket. Quickly, he scribbled something inside the front cover.

Then, with quiet steps, he placed it in her tote bag that hung loosely off her shoulder as she browsed.

---

That night, as Y/N settled into bed, she pulled the book from her bag and opened it.

Inside, in his familiar handwriting, it read:

> "Come argue with me again sometime."

- K.N.

She stared at the message, heart fluttering.

So he did know.

She smiled, tucked the book to her chest, and whispered,

"Challenge accepted."

---

The next time Y/N stepped into Willow's Book Nook, she told herself it was purely for the atmosphere.

The warm lighting, the cinnamon coffee from the adjoining café, the quiet corners-perfect for reading or escaping. Definitely not because of a cryptic note in her tote bag signed by one Kim Namjoon.

She walked past the poetry section-his favorite, she'd once read in an interview-and ran her fingers across the spines of a few old classics. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A new post notification from @kimnamjoon_official.

"Found comfort between ink and dust today. Thank you, Willow's."

She glanced up.

He was here.

Again.

At the far end of the shop, near a small table stacked with poetry collections, he sat cross-legged on the floor, a notebook open, scribbling something. Dressed in a simple white tee under a navy cardigan, he looked completely at peace.

She considered walking away.

Instead, she walked over and picked up a book from the shelf right behind him. "What is it this time?" she asked casually.

Namjoon looked up, blinking once, then smiling slowly. "You came back."

"I always come back," she replied, flipping a page. "It's the cinnamon coffee. Addictive."

"Right," he nodded. "Nothing to do with the charming author who left you a mysterious message in your bag?"

She raised a brow. "Charming's a stretch."

Namjoon laughed, low and genuine. "You wound me."

"Do I?" she said sweetly. "I thought authors liked emotional pain. Isn't that how you write all those gut-wrenching lines?"

He closed his notebook. "Only when I run out of sarcasm. You seem to have plenty, though. Ever thought of writing?"

"I prefer reading," she said, stepping around to sit beside him on the floor. "Less ego, more imagination."

"Touché," Namjoon murmured. He eyed her curiously. "You never told me your name."

"I didn't," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you already know it."

Namjoon didn't answer immediately. His lips curled into a knowing smile. "So you do know who I am."

"Please," she scoffed. "You think I'd let some random guy sneak a book into my bag without at least Googling him?"

He laughed again, this time a little louder. "You've been playing me this whole time."

"Maybe," she said, eyes twinkling. "Or maybe I just wanted to see who you were without the filters and fancy interviews."

"And?" he asked, curious.

"You're more interesting in person," she admitted, then smirked. "But still annoyingly full of yourself."

Namjoon grinned. "You keep saying that, and yet here you are, voluntarily sitting next to me in a bookstore."

"Maybe I just like messing with you."

"Oh, I can tell."

They sat there for a moment, quiet falling between them like a shared page. Around them, soft music played, the sound of pages turning and the scent of coffee threading through the air.

"Do you always write here?" Y/N asked eventually.

"Sometimes," he said. "Only when I need real people to distract me from fictional ones."

She nodded. "Your characters are very poetic."

"Too poetic?" he challenged.

She tilted her head. "Let's just say no one actually says things like 'her silence was louder than thunder' during an argument."

"I was going for dramatic tension."

"You got dramatic alright," she teased.

Namjoon sighed. "You should've told me you were a critic."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm just... observant."

He looked at her closely then. "You annotate my books."

She froze for a second, then smirked. "I do. Didn't think you noticed."

"I notice everything," he said quietly. "Especially when someone writes better questions in the margins than the ones I answer in the book."

Y/N's gaze softened. "You actually read them?"

"Every page I could find," he admitted. "Your thoughts... they were honest. Brutally so. It made me see my own work differently."

"I wasn't trying to change your perspective," she said.

"No," Namjoon replied, eyes locked with hers, "but you did."

Something unspoken passed between them then. A subtle shift. The kind that makes you aware of the way someone's hand rests near yours, of the way a single breath can sound like a confession.

"So," Y/N cleared her throat, "if I say your tragic endings are emotionally manipulative, would you rewrite one?"

"Absolutely not," he deadpanned.

She laughed. "Coward."

"Artist," he corrected.

"Overdramatic," she countered.

"Hopeless romantic," he shrugged.

She stared at him, eyes glinting. "So am I."

He paused. "I can tell."

Y/N stood up, brushing off her jeans. "Same time next week?"

Namjoon tilted his head. "Is this a thing now?"

She leaned down a little and whispered, "Only if you promise to let me critique your next plot twist."

"I'll write a new one," he said, standing too. "Just for you."

She walked toward the café, heart racing, a smile tugging at her lips.

Behind her, Namjoon opened his notebook again, the blank page now somehow full of possibilities.

At the top, he wrote:

> "Chapter 2 - She challenged the writer, and for the first time, the writer lost... willingly."

TIME SKIPS

The following Wednesday, rain trickled down the windows of Willow's Book Nook, giving the store a hushed, dreamy atmosphere. Outside, Seoul's chaos softened under the cloudy sky. Inside, the world stood still-at least for Y/N.

She was already waiting by the time Namjoon walked in. A caramel latte sat in front of her, untouched, while her nose was buried in a worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Namjoon took a second to admire the scene-her loose bun, the faint glasses slipping down her nose, the way she scribbled thoughts in the margins with a pencil.

"Are you always this poetic-looking, or is it just when you're trying to make me jealous of a dead author?"

Y/N glanced up. "Oscar Wilde had better punchlines than you."

Namjoon slid into the seat across from her, dropping a folded note on the table between them. "I brought you something."

She raised a brow. "You again with the mystery notes. What is it this time? A cryptic poem? A secret passage?"

He smirked. "Open it."

With narrowed eyes, she unfolded the note. Inside was a short handwritten message:

> "If you were a book, I'd dog-ear every page just to revisit the moments you made me smile."

She snorted. "Wow. Did you get that from a Tumblr post from 2014?"

Namjoon leaned forward, smug. "Actually, it's original."

"Even worse," she teased. "Do you always flirt using metaphors?"

"Only with people who pretend not to know who I am, then make me fall for their annotated insults."

She blinked.

"Fall?" she echoed.

He casually sipped his Americano. "You heard me."

Y/N took a long sip of her latte, trying to hide the fact that her heart might've just skipped.

"Don't you think it's reckless?" she asked lightly. "Falling for someone who corrects your grammar in your own book?"

"Maybe I like the challenge," he replied. "Or maybe I'm just tired of everyone telling me what I want to hear."

That silenced her. Because she understood. Really understood.

Y/N placed her cup down and softened. "I didn't mean to make fun of you. I just... didn't know how to talk to you without sounding like a fan."

Namjoon's gaze met hers, honest and warm. "But you're more than that, Y/N. You're the only one who made me feel like me. Not the writer. Not the public figure. Just... Namjoon."

She blinked, lips parting slightly. "You read my name in the annotations?"

"I read everything," he said, voice low. "And I looked for you. I gave away books hoping you'd get one. I followed you on every platform hoping you'd post something... anything."

"That's a little stalker-ish," she teased.

He grinned. "Only if it didn't work."

Their laughter melted into the rain tapping the windows.

"So what now?" she asked, half-playful, half-serious.

"Now," he said, pulling out a notebook, "we continue the story."

Y/N eyed it. "Are you writing about me?"

"About us," he corrected. "And the girl who annotated my words so beautifully, I started writing better just to impress her."

"You're unbelievable," she whispered.

Namjoon tilted his head. "Still think I'm full of myself?"

"Undoubtedly."

"But?"

She smiled, leaning in closer, voice soft and teasing. "But I'm starting to like the way you write people."

He leaned in too, inches from her now. "Good. Because I'm not done writing you yet."

---

That afternoon, they stayed in the café corner of the bookstore longer than usual. He read her snippets of his newest story. She critiqued his metaphors with brutal honesty. He listened, laughed, scribbled notes. She laughed back, her cheeks warming every time his eyes lingered.

And for the first time in a long time, Namjoon felt like he wasn't creating a fictional love story.

He was living one.

The week passed with an unbearable slowness.

Y/N found herself checking her phone more often, rereading their conversations, and occasionally smiling like a fool at nothing at all. She told herself it was just admiration for a talented writer. That she liked their banter. That it was refreshing.

But when she saw his name flash across her screen with a simple:

> "Same time. Same place?"

She didn't hesitate before replying:

> "Obviously."

When she arrived at Willow's Book Nook, the bookstore was quieter than usual. A storm had hit earlier that morning, leaving the skies a washed-out grey, but Y/N didn't mind. The quiet made her heartbeats louder. And she knew-without fully admitting it-that today felt different.

Namjoon was already there. Sitting on the floor by their usual corner, surrounded by scattered notebooks, highlighters, and half-read poetry books. A soft jazz instrumental hummed through his headphones as he scribbled something intensely.

She sat beside him and gently tugged a headphone away.

"Creating your next heartbreak?" she teased.

He looked up, smile slow and genuine. "You inspire the best ones."

"I should be offended."

"You should be proud," he replied. "You've ruined me for simple heroines."

She shook her head, laughing. "You say the most ridiculous things."

"Only to you."

Y/N looked at the notebook in his hand. "Let me guess-another poetic monologue?"

Namjoon hesitated.

Then, slowly, he handed her the notebook. "Actually... it's a letter. To you."

She blinked. "What?"

"Don't worry, it's not tragic or dramatic," he said quickly. "I just-well, you'll see."

With a nervous breath, she opened the page.

> *Dear Annotator,

You walked into my story uninvited, like a postscript I never planned but now can't imagine deleting.

I've written characters who long for love, for connection, for someone who understands them. But none of them felt as real as you.

You didn't flatter me-you challenged me. You didn't praise me-you questioned me.

And in doing so, you made me feel truly seen.

I don't know when it happened-maybe between the second coffee or the fifth eye-roll-but somewhere along the way, I started writing for you.

Not the crowd.

Just you.

I like you, Choi Y/N. No metaphors. Just truth.

Namjoon.*

She stared at the page, heart thudding against her ribs.

Namjoon sat quietly, not trying to fill the silence.

After a minute, she closed the notebook and looked at him, eyes a little glassy. "That's not fair."

"What's not?" he asked gently.

"You wrote a love confession better than anything I could ever say in return."

Namjoon smiled. "You don't have to say anything. Just... tell me I'm not the only one."

Y/N bit her lip, then leaned closer, brushing her fingers over the ink still drying.

"You're not."

He let out a breath like he'd been holding it for weeks.

"I like you too, Kim Namjoon. No metaphors. Just... a mess of feelings and butterflies I've been trying to ignore."

Namjoon chuckled, relief and happiness blooming in his expression. "Finally. That was worse than waiting for book reviews."

She laughed. "Now you know how it feels."

Their shoulders brushed, and silence settled in again-but this time, it was a warm, shared silence.

Namjoon reached for her hand, hesitated, then gently laced his fingers through hers.

"I don't know what this will be," he whispered. "But I want to write it. With you."

Y/N smiled. "Then let's turn the page."

---

That night, he posted a quote on Instagram:

> "Some stories aren't written in books.

They're written in glances, stolen laughter, and shared coffees.

And this one?

It begins with her."

---

A year passed like a dream written in the margins.

Kim Namjoon and Choi Y/N-once strangers bound by ink and imagination-were now a duo that bookshelves and café tables came to recognize. Every weekend, they met at Willow's Book Nook. Sometimes they read. Sometimes they just existed in the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

And sometimes, Namjoon would bring a new book-his own, published with trembling hope-dedicating each one silently to the girl who scribbled truth into his fiction.

Y/N supported every word. Not as a fan. Not as a critic.

But as his muse.

---

One rainy Sunday, the bookstore looked different. Not in a major way-but there were signs. A bouquet of lavender near the front desk. Fairy lights strung delicately between shelves. The jazz playlist replaced with soft piano.

Y/N stepped inside, suspicious and curious, brushing damp hair from her face. Her phone buzzed.

> Namjoon: Fiction. Aisle 5.

She smiled and made her way toward the back. The shelves parted to reveal a cozy reading nook lit by soft golden light. A single book sat open on the small wooden table.

It wasn't a store book.

It was leather-bound, elegant, and had her name engraved in gold across the front:

"Between the Lines - For Y/N."

She picked it up slowly, heart thudding.

Inside, the pages were filled with short entries. Snippets of their story from his point of view. The first time he saw her name in annotations. The coffee-laced banter. The moment she laughed at his worst metaphor and made him want to write a better one.

And at the very end:

> *"If this were a book, we'd be at the last page of the first chapter.

But I want a whole series with you, Y/N.

Will you be the co-author of my forever?"*

Her fingers trembled.

A shadow fell across the page as Namjoon stepped into the light, dressed simply in a black sweater and jeans, but his eyes-those warm, sincere eyes-held every ounce of nervous hope.

In his hand: a simple silver ring, nestled in a book-shaped box.

"I didn't want a dramatic proposal," he said softly. "No cameras. No grand gestures. Just... us. Here. Where it all began."

Y/N laughed through the tears forming in her eyes. "You're such a book nerd."

"Guilty," he smiled. "But one with good taste."

She set the book down and stepped closer. "So you want to spend forever editing chapters with me?"

"Even the messy ones."

"Even when I critique your metaphors?"

"I'll rewrite every one if it means you stay."

Y/N bit her lip, then nodded, voice a whisper.

"Yes. I'll stay."

He slid the ring onto her finger-simple, silver, and engraved with two words inside:

"My Muse."

---

They kissed among the shelves, surrounded by the scent of old pages, fresh rain, and a love story written one heartbeat at a time.

From then on, Willow's Book Nook added a new local favorite to its shelves:

"Between the Lines"

By Kim Namjoon and Choi Y/N.

A real love story, written in truth, laughter, and the quiet, powerful magic of finding your person between the pages.

----------

The wedding wasn't extravagant.

It was intimate-just like their story.

Held in the backyard of a countryside book café they both adored, the setting was perfect. Paper lanterns floated above, fairy lights twinkled like stars, and books were stacked in soft little towers across the venue.

Each table was named after a chapter from their favorite novels-Pride, Warmth, Destiny, Muse. And instead of a guestbook, guests wrote short letters and folded them into the pages of blank journals. A gift Namjoon and Y/N would read slowly, together, in the months to come.

Namjoon stood beneath an arch of white blooms, wearing a soft beige suit, his usual confident air replaced by a gentle stillness.

And then she walked in.

Y/N wore an off-shoulder ivory dress, simple and graceful. Her hair was adorned with tiny pearls, and in her hand, she carried a bouquet made from the pages of Namjoon's first novel-the one that led her to him.

He smiled as if the world had paused. "You look like the first page of a beautiful story," he whispered when she reached him.

"And you look like home," she replied.

The vows weren't rehearsed.

Namjoon held her hands and began:

> "You were a reader who became my muse,

A stranger who became my soulmate.

You turned my fiction into reality,

And every blank page into a promise.

I vow to love you like I write-

With intent, with patience,

And with all of me."

Y/N took a breath, then answered:

> "You were the author I admired from afar,

Who became the center of my every line.

I vow to be your co-writer,

In every chapter-messy or magical.

To hold your hand when the plot twists,

And to never skip a page."

They kissed to the sound of pages fluttering in the breeze.

---

A Few Years Later...

A new book was on the shelf-

"The Letters We Never Sent"

By Kim Namjoon & Choi Y/N.

On the back cover:

> *Inspired by the greatest love story I've ever lived.

P.S. She still critiques my metaphors. And I still love every second of it.*

At home, a tiny pair of feet padded across the wooden floor.

A little girl and boy with chubby cheeks and sleepy eyes climbed into their father's lap, their thumb still in her mouth.

Namjoon pulled them close, kissed their head, and pointed at the picture book in front of them. "Want to hear how Appa met Eomma?"

The little ones nodded.

Y/N leaned on the doorway, watching her favorite story unfold once again.

But this time-with a new reader.

And just like that, Between the Lines was no longer just a book.

It was a life, a love, and a legacy.

---

Words count:- 4.1k

STAY TUNE FOR PART 2 OF THIS........