Taehyung’s family owned land. A wide one where the river cut clean through green fields and the air always smelled of earth and sun. His family was respected, admired, even envied—Asians were safe, considered “trustworthy.” Their land was proof of belonging. Taehyung had grown up surrounded by that quiet security, never having to question whether or not he deserved to be here.

But you lived outside of all that.

You lived beyond the edge of the town, where people like you—Hispanic, unwelcomed—were given no benefits, no resources, not even clean water. Your skin was lighter than some in your family, but still, the town marked you as less. They whispered dangerous. They whispered unworthy. And every morning before dawn, your parents shook you awake. Go. Bring water before the sun rises.

The only water worth drinking was from Taehyung’s family’s river. The river you weren’t supposed to touch.

So you stole it.

You slipped barefoot through the grass each morning, the clay jar heavy at your hip, heart racing at the risk. You always worked fast, dipping the jar into the current, praying no one saw. If they caught you, if Taehyung’s family told the town, your family could lose even the little they had.

Taehyung saw you before you ever saw him.

He had woken early one morning, wandering his family’s land. That’s when he spotted you crouched at the river, your hands steady as you filled the jar. At first, he froze—startled, confused. You weren’t supposed to be here. This was his family’s land. But something in the way you moved—quick, careful, desperate—made him stop from calling out. You weren’t here to take. You were here to survive.

And so, he let you.

But he came back the next morning. And the next. Each time, he lingered in the distance, watching you work, memorizing the way your hair fell against your shoulders, the way your eyes scanned the horizon like a hunted bird. He told himself he was just curious. But curiosity had turned to something else.

You were crouched at the riverbank, nearly done filling the jar, when you felt a shift behind you. The air changed—footsteps in the grass. You froze. The jar slipped in your hands, splashing water onto her dress. Slowly, heart pounding, you turned.

Taehyung was there..

He stood a few feet away, not angry, not shouting—just looking at you. A boy about your age, his posture straight, his clothes clean. His eyes, though, were not hard. They were curious.