The huge room had white drapes with small floral patterned curtain drawn aside revealing the beauty of nature outside. A fan on the ceiling whirred on. Countless photo stand having smiling pictures were cluttered on the bedside table, the dressing table and the walls. A woman's toiletries crowded the vanity.

The carpet appeared to be plush and soft from the mellow light of the night shades lighting the room in a warm embrace, but the woman on the bed remained unaware of the ordinary beauty of her room.

She stirred a little when her door was knocked again.

"Anya? Please just eat something. Its been two days now. Mira made dinner!! You know its going to be so delicious!"

Anya put her head on her pillow again, closing her eyes.

"Anya, please."

It had been two days since she knew the truth logic tried to hide.

It had been two days since she felt someone reach inside her chest to rip out her beating heart.

For a year, she had been concerned with her problems, pursuing her career and patiently waiting for Joon to come back.

Thinking of the way she would scold him, how she would pretend to not talk to him. How he would coax her, maybe buy her flowers, kiss her and then she would give in.

Would have teased him mercilessly, would have said that till they grew old and grey, she would hold this mistake over him, and he would groan pitifully asking her to look over it fot just one time.

That it would not happen ever again.

Dead.

He had been dead while she had been pleasantly weaving a future which had collapsed before the thread had even been secured on the knitting needle.

"Joonie! I will call you Joonie! You will not mind will you?"

Dark helpless eyes looked at her exuberance, "Will that make you happy?"

"Of course!" the eleven year old child chirped, "Everyone keeps calling you NAMJOON. So stuffy!" then she puffed up her chest, "But you have said that I am special in your life, right? So I will call you a name no one else does!! Joonie!"

The sixteen year old boy stood expressionlessly, but in his chest, a tiny warmth bloomed. A warmth, for which he had been hungry for. "Friends have special names?" he asked.

The girl looked at him with a smile, that had no shadow of pity or sympathy. She bounced to him, and suddenly took his big hand in her own small ones, holding it tightly.

Startled with the physical contact which held no pain, Joon looked down at their clasped hands, the warmth rapidly spreading now.

"This is such a good thing!!! You don't know about it, which means you have never had friends! Yayyyy!!! It means I am your very FIRST friend!" the girl gave him a blinding smile with one of her canine tooth missing.

Namjoon felt his muscles pull in a foreign way when his lips tugged upwards in a smile, which was perhaps the first one in his sixteen years. While the little girl with long black hair nodded and continued, "Friends who are special to each other give each other names that only they are allowed to use. Only then can you know they are special friend."

Namjoon instinctively caught the girl from falling when she pulled him to go forward and lost her balance. He securely held her small fragile hand in his, "Then what do your friends call you?"

"Well, I love eating Blueberries and my eyes are Blue, so Blueberry!" she went on her tippy toes to push back Joon's black specs up on his nose and asked, "Will you call me that too?"

"No." the adolescent boy answered before he could think it through. Then, with some hesitation, he honestly told the girl, "Since you are my first friend, and very special to me, i will give you a different one."

"Really?"

Standing with the bright rays of sun behind him, washed with the golden light of the day, the strikingly handsome boy looked at her with a gentle smile, "You will be my Little Fruit."

Anya had scowled at that and told him stiffly with a pout, "I don't think I like that name!"

The small rusty smile had become wider for the Boy, whose eyes slightly melted with affection, "No? Why not?"

"Because I am only little now! But when I grow up I will be big! Then will you call me Big Fruit?!?!?" even though she had been irritated, that was the first time she had been stunned.

So stunned, that her little mouth had gaped open, her eyes round like a puppy as she gazed at the sight of the serious unapproachable boy turning as mesmerising as a prince, when he laughed.

He laughed at her, and a beautiful dimple enhanced his glowing self.

His laugh was deep, the sound curling inside of her and making her happy as well.

"No." Joon patted her head, "You will ALWAYS be my Little Fruit. Always." then, he had hesitated again, but resolutely continued in a low, yet steel voice, "Whether little or big," he pinched her cheek, "I will protect you."

Always.

That word remained unsaid, but both of them heard it as clearly as if it had loudly been announced from his heart.

Anya curled up on the bed again. The damned pain in her chest never went away. It throbbed and choked her in an agony that could not cease. Something blocked her throat, not allowing her to make a sound, drowning her even deeper in the ocean of desolation.

She clutched at the bedsheet, trying to hold on to something, trying to anchor herself in the tsunami of the monumental loss she was not capable of dealing with.

That prince, was dead. He was gone.

Gone.

Dead

Everything building up to the point where tolerating was no longer possible, Anya screamed out in her sorrow, her wails filled with heart wrenching pain of loss. The echo of all the future, her love being shattered and burnt rang loudly in that cry of pain.

Her cries did not stop. That scream corrosive to her three friends downstairs, who knew they had nothing to offer as consolation. Who, even after hearing in countless times in the last 2 days, felt the same crunching helplessness as the first time.

RING

RING

RING

RING

Like a lost baby suddenly being picked up by a person she knew was safe, Anya's swollen eyes continued to leak tears that never ceased, but she raised herself to look at that piece of instrument. Any sounds from her were instantly dimmed, her clenched hands loosening its grip on the bedsheets.

She swiped her palms to somehow wipe away the traces of her loss, then slowly, very slowly she crawled towards where the table was.

The call, reassuringly went on, even beyond the usual time of being cut off.

Hesitantly, Anya picked it up but somehow could not find herself to place it over her ears.

What if it was someone else? What if, everything was just a hallucination? What if, after she knew about him, he went away?

What if she never could hear him talking to her again?

What if this was what he wanted to prevent, her finding it out because otherwise he would have to leave? It would have been better to be angry at her lover being alive but busy rather than her soulmate striving to reach her after the way he was betrayed and killed by his own family, by the person he had trusted since he was a small little boy.

What if, Anya brokenly wept, this would be the last time he could talk to her?

If that was the case, then she did not want to give him the chance to leave.

Before she could cut the call, the blankets she had thrown away, gathered around her, gently covering the lower half of her body, infinitely patient in the way it folded on her, tucking her away from the cold in the room.

It cocooned around her, the lower part of it tucking beneath her feet.

Following that, The warm lights of the room switched on one at a time, making the room brighter, and more cheerful, chasing away the hazy dreamlike aura. The night shades in the late evening had created an atmosphere a fantasy that blurred reality. The flooding lights broke that illusion to make everything seem more real.

In this glaring reality the contrast of the blankets docilely wrapping around her served to highlight one fact in the chaotic and grieving mind of the beautiful maiden.

Joon was here.

Hands still shaking, heart still pounding, mind still echoing with the single burning wish of this not being the last time, Anya gingerly pressed it to her ears, but remained silent.

"Little Fruit. . . ."

Like the blessing of sweet, cool rain in a dry, parched, cracked soil of desert, his voice nourished the barren wasteland her soul had become.

"My Little Fruit. . . Don't cry. Please." Joon begged.

The tears kept falling unchecked, but the girl sat still with the phone clutched with both her hands. Her eyes unseen stared at something but her hearing was heavily attuned to even the nuances of the syllable he spoke.

She kept silent, but every cell of her body wanted more. She needed it.

She could not speak, wouldn't even dare to break this mirage of oasis so she held the receiver as if it was the most precious treasure in this universe, and waited to hear the man speak again.

With unnoticed trails of tears down her face, she attached every single bit of dying hope to that voice, to rescue her from the pitch black ocean of loss she was drowning in.

"I wont go anywhere." He coaxed, understanding accurately what she feared the most, "I will not leave you."

A soft whimper like that of a wounded animal escaped her, but she still did not speak.

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A/N : Heya fellas! If you are liking the story, please do vote and comment!