The morning in the tiny apartment was peaceful for once. No café shifts. No classes. No assignments demanding immediate attention.
Just three girls and a rare day off.
Nana stood in their cramped kitchen, humming as she prepared lunch. She'd tied her hair up messily, thrown on her most comfortable (read: oldest and most worn) clothes, and had flour on her cheek from making dumplings from scratch. She looked like a disaster, but she was happy.
"Something smells amazing!" Mina called from the bathroom where she was tackling their mountain of laundry.
"That's Nana's cooking," Jisu said, sweeping the floor with methodical precision.
"Everything she makes smells amazing. It's unfair."
"I learned from my mother," Nana said, carefully folding another dumpling.
"And necessity. When you have five siblings to feed on no budget, you get creative."
They're developed a good system—Nana cooked because she was best at it, Mina handled laundry because she claimed to have a "spiritual connection" with the washing machine, and Jisu cleaned because she was the only one who could make their chaotic space look organized.
The doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Mina yelled, abandoning the laundry and racing to the door. "Maybe it's the—OH MY GOD!"
Her shriek was so loud the neighbors probably heard it three floors up.
"What?!" Jisu dropped her broom. "What's wrong?!"
"DOCTOR LI IS HERE!" Mina's voice hit a pitch that shouldn't be humanly possible.
"AT OUR DOOR! IN A SUIT! LOOKING LIKE A GOD DESCENDED FROM HEAVEN!"
Nana froze, dumpling half-folded in her flour-covered hands. "What?"
She looked down at herself—old shirt with a stain, worn sweatpants, hair a mess, flour everywhere. This could not be happening.
Zayne appeared in the kitchen doorway, and time seemed to slow down.
He was leaning casually against the wall in a perfectly tailored black suit, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread. Dark hair styled impeccably, that composed expression she both loved and found intimidating,
checking his phone with elegant fingers.
He looked up, saw her, and smiled—that soft, genuine smile reserved only for her.
"Hi," he said simply. "I thought we could go out. I have the afternoon off, and I wanted to—" He took in her appearance. "—spend time with you."
Nana opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down at her disaster outfit and then back at him in his perfect suit. "I—I'm—I look like—"
"You look beautiful," he said automatically.
"I have FLOUR on my FACE!"
"Endearing flour."
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Mina grabbed Nana's arm with surprising strength. "She is NOT going on a date looking like this! Your fangirls will EAT HER ALIVE!"
"I have fangirls?" Zayne looked genuinely confused.
"YES!" Jisu had joined the intervention.
"Half the hospital! Medical students! Random women on the street! And they will DESTROY Nana if they see her with you looking less than perfect!"
"That's—that's ridiculous—" Zayne started.
But the girls weren't listening. They'd already begun dragging Nana toward their bedroom, ignoring her protests.
"Wait—the dumplings—"
"I'll watch them!" Zayne called after them, looking bemused.
"Don't touch anything! Just—just stand there and be pretty!" Mina yelled back before slamming the bedroom door.
"This unnecessary—" Nana tried to say as Mina and Jisu descended on her like a tactical team.
"STRIP!" Mina commanded.
"What?!"
"Your clothes! Off! Now! We have thirty minutes to make you date-ready!"
"But I don't have anything fancy—"
"You're wearing MY dress," Mina declared, already digging through her closet. "The blue one. The sparkly one."
"That's too—that's way too revealing—"
"It's PERFECT!" Mina pulled out a dress that made Nana's eyes widen in horror.
The dress was beautiful—she'd admit that.
Soft blue with a slight shimmer, with delicate black ribbon straps tied at the shoulders. But it was also... short. And sleeveless. And showed more skin than Nana had ever shown in public.
"I can't wear that! I'll look—everyone will see—my arms are—"
"Your arms are GORGEOUS!" Jisu was already setting up makeup supplies.
"Sit. We're doing your face."
"I don't wear makeup—"
"You do today!"
Twenty-five minutes later, Nana barely recognized herself in the mirror.
The dress fit perfectly—Mina was slightly taller but they managed to make it work. It fell to mid-thigh, showing legs Nana usually kept hidden under jeans or long skirts.
The neckline was modest enough but the sleeveless design left her shoulders and arms completely bare. Black ribbons tied at each shoulder in delicate bows, adding an innocent touch to what felt like a scandalously revealing outfit.
Jisu had done her makeup—nothing heavy, just enough to enhance. A touch of color on her lips, subtle definition to her eyes, a hint of shimmer on her cheeks.some pieces framing her face, adding a small decorative clip that caught the light.
"Oh my god," Mina breathed. "You're a DOLL. A literal DOLL."
"I look ridiculous—"
"You look STUNNING!" Jisu corrected. "Doctor Li is going to malfunction."
"I feel naked," Nana whispered, tugging at the hem. "This is—this is too much—"
"It's perfect. Trust us." Mina pushed her toward the door. "Now go knock your surgeon boyfriend dead."
Nana took a deep breath and opened the door.
Zayne was in the kitchen, having apparently abandoned his "don't touch anything" orders to finish folding her dumplings. He looked up as she emerged—
And completely froze.His hands stopped mid-fold. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again like his brain had short-circuited.
"Hi," Nana said shyly, feeling her face burn under his stare. "Is this—is this okay? It's too much, isn't it? I told them it was too much—"
"You're—" His voice came out rough. He cleared his throat. "You look—" Another attempt. "That's—"
Mina and Jisu were watching from the doorway, grinning like maniacs.
"I think we broke him," Mina whispered.
"Definitely broke him," Jisu agreed.
Zayne finally rebooted, setting down the dumpling carefully. "You look beautiful," he managed. "Different but—but beautiful."
Different.
Nana's heart sank. "Different bad? Should I change? I have my normal clothes—
"No!" He said it too quickly, too forcefully. Then, more controlled: "No. You look... stunning. I just—I'm not used to seeing you so—" He gestured vaguely at her exposed arms and shoulders. "—dressed up."
Truthfully, Zayne preferred her usual style—comfortable clothes that were distinctly her.
But this dress... this dress made her look like something from a dream. Delicate and ethereal and heartbreakingly beautiful.
It also made him very aware that other men had eyes.
"Let me get my jacket," he said, already calculating how many males they'd encounter, how many would stare, how many he'd have to silently threaten—
"It's warm outside—"
"I insist." His tone left no room for argument.
.
.
.
.
.
The restaurant was fancy—the kind Nana had only seen in dramas. Crystal chandeliers, pristine white tablecloths, waiters in formal attire who somehow made serving food look elegant.
"Zayne, this is—this is too expensive—"
"It's our first proper date in the city," he said, pulling out her chair. "I wanted it to be special."
She sat, overwhelmed by the menu (why did they need seventeen types of steak?), by the fancy silverware (which fork was for what?), by the eyes that turned their way.
And there were eyes. So many eyes.
The dress, apparently, had been a mistake. Not because she didn't look beautiful—she looked stunning, ethereal, like some kind of fairy—but because every man in the restaurant noticed.
The businessman at the next table kept glancing over.
The waiter lingered too long, smiling too brightly when taking her order.
The group of young men near the window were outright staring, whispering to each other.
Zayne felt something dark and possessive coil in his chest. He gripped his fork tighter, watching yet another man's eyes travel over his girlfriend.
Mine, something primitive in him growled. Stop looking at what's mine.
"Zayne?" Nana had noticed his expression. "Are you okay? You look—intense."
"I'm fine." He was not fine. He was contemplating the efficiency of fork-based threats.
Nana, oblivious to the attention she was receiving, happily cut into her steak.
"This is amazing! I've never had steak this good! Is all city food like this?"
"Not all of it," he managed, watching her enjoy her meal, trying to focus on her happiness instead of the businessman who was still staring.
The fork bent slightly in his grip.
This is ridiculous, he told himself. You're a cardiac surgeon. A professional. A rational scientist. You don't get jealous like some territorial—
Another man walked past their table, eyes lingering on Nana's exposed shoulders.
Okay, maybe a little territorial.
"Zayne?" Nana touched his hand, concerned. "You're not eating. And you're—you're bending your fork."
He looked down. The fork was indeed bent.
"Sorry. I was—thinking."
"About what?"
About how many ways I can legally discourage men from staring at you.
"Work," he lied.
She didn't believe him but let it slide, returning to her meal.
Another five minutes of watching men appreciate HIS girlfriend in THAT dress, and Zayne reached his limit.
He stood abruptly, removing his suit jacket.
"What are you—"
He draped the jacket over her shoulders, immediately beginning to button it, covering her arms, her shoulders, everything that had been drawing attention. His movements were careful, methodical, wrapping her in his clothing like he could shield her from every stare.
The jacket swallowed her small frame completely. She looked adorable, drowning in expensive black fabric.
Zayne felt immediately better.
"There," he said, satisfied, sitting back down.
Nana blinked at him, processing. "Did you—did you just cover me up?"
"Yes."
"Because...?"
He met her eyes, expression serious.
"Because I don't appreciate other men looking at my future wife like she's a dessert menu."
Nana mind caught on two words. "Future... wife?"
"Yes." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Future wife. The position is occupied. Applications are closed. And I prefer if the current holder of said position isn't being visually objectified by every male in a three-table radius."
A slow smile spread across Nana's face. "You're jealous."
"I'm—" He paused. Was he? "I'm... concerned about inappropriate attention."
"You're jealous," she repeated, delighted.
"Dr. Zayne Li, the stoic cardiac surgeon who never shows emotion, is jealous because men looked at me."
"I didn't say that—"
"You bent a fork."
"That was—that was unrelated—"
"You covered me with your jacket."
"For—for warmth—"
"It's 25 degrees outside."
He had no response to that.
Nana reached across the table, taking his hand, her smile soft and radiant.
"I think it's sweet."
"Sweet?" He looked offended. "Jealousy is a primitive emotion based on insecurity and—"
"And love," she interrupted gently. "You were jealous because you love me. Because you don't like other people looking at what's yours." She squeezed his hand. "That's sweet. And a little possessive. But mostly sweet."
Zayne stared at her, at this woman who saw through every defense he tried to mount, who found his worst qualities endearing.
"I do love you," he admitted quietly. "Very much. Too much, probably."
"No such thing as too much." She stood, still wearing his jacket that hung to her knees, and leaned across the table to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
"Now finish your steak. And stop glaring at strangers. You're scaring the waiter."
"He was staring—"
"He was doing his job."
"Too enthusiastically."
She laughed, that bright, joyful sound that made everything worthwhile, and returned to her seat.
For the rest of the meal, Nana stayed wrapped in his jacket, and Zayne felt something primitive and satisfied settle in his chest.
Let every man in this restaurant see: she was his. Wearing his clothes, sitting at his table, holding his hand, looking at him with love in her eyes.
His.
And someday soon—very soon—he'd make it official.
But first, he needed to find a restaurant with fewer people.
And possibly buy her a whole wardrobe of modest dresses that didn't make him want to fight strangers.
But looking at her now, drowning in his jacket, smiling at him like he'd hung the moon—
He had to admit, the jealousy was worth it.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued __