Accident

You were on your way to the restaurant for your first date, stomach buzzing with nerves, when the universe decided to throw in a plot twist—by way of a speeding luxury sedan.

You didn’t even get a chance to swear before the front grill smacked you like a linebacker. You bounced off the hood and landed badly, ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.

“Ah, god—” you groaned, curling around the pain as your foot ballooned to nearly twice its size. The agony was sharp and immediate, then settled into something duller but constant—like your ankle had been replaced with a live wire.

A car door slammed. Footsteps rushed over.

“Oh my god—are you alive?! I swear I didn’t see you!”

You looked up, expecting some panicked auntie. Instead, you were met with the most disarmingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen—glossy black hair, porcelain skin, wide eyes full of panic and… chaotic sparkle?

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t texting, I swear—well, I was looking at the restaurants, but that’s not the same—wait, what’s your name?”

You blinked, still on the ground. “Malcom.”

“I’m Yu Jimin—but you can call me Karina! Okay, I feel terrible, so I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you stand? No? That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, she crouched, looped your arm around your shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged you back to the passenger seat of the car that had just hit you. You stared, dazed, as she buckled you in with the tenderness of a mom securing her toddler.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in the ER, staring at a doctor whose mouth kept twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between you and Karina, “she ran you over and then personally chauffeured you to the hospital?”

You nodded.

Karina stood beside the gurney, arms crossed like a scolded puppy. “It was an accident,” she mumbled. “And technically I clipped him. Just a little clipping. Barely a love tap.”

The doctor gave up and left the room before he could laugh in your face.

After you got a boot on and were waiting to be discharged Karina laughed and said, “You know I was actually supposed to head to a date before this. That’s probably ruined,”

You laugh and say, “If it’s any consolation I was supposed to as well,”

“I guess this can be our first date then,” Karina said with a goofy smile. You laugh and say

“Sure,”

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Karina—and learned one undeniable truth.

This girl? Absolutely insane.

Not in a bad way. Not the dangerous kind of crazy. More like… a fizzy soda shaken too much, a firecracker in a Hello Kitty box, a sunrise that forgot it wasn’t supposed to talk at 200 words per minute.

Karina was a whirlwind of sunshine: too energetic, too happy, too much—but in the kind of way you start to crave. She skipped instead of walking. She made up songs about brushing her teeth. She got excited about vending machines like they were ancient wonders of the world.

But here’s the thing no one warned you about: her body? Ridiculously sinful for someone so wrapped in pink chaos.

Every time she bounced around the room in one of her oversized crop tops—grinning, giggling, hopping like an overcaffeinated bunny—there was a real risk of divine intervention. One bend, one innocent lean, and boom: cleavage apocalypse. You’d try to keep eye contact, but it felt like a test sent straight from the heavens. And you were failing. Hard.