Seo-ah's POV
The classroom buzzed with quiet chatter and the scratch of pens. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows of the literature building, casting golden slants across the desks. Seo-ah sat by the window, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. She wasn't really listening to the discussion anymore. Her thoughts had drifted — not to her story, for once — but to last night's messages.
She had barely slept.
Not from stress, but from the way his words had nestled into her mind like seeds waiting to bloom.
Jae-hyun.
He was nothing like what she had imagined—yet somehow too close to something she had written.
Their collaboration had begun formally, but each message between them now felt like a thread being pulled tighter. And tighter.
Last night's voice note still echoed in her mind. The way his voice slowed slightly at the words "a shared sentence."
She'd replayed it twice. Okay—five times.
He had no idea what those lines did to her.
The next day, they found themselves on the library floor, nestled between rows of poetry anthologies and forgotten paperbacks. Their group was scattered across beanbags and cushions, pages of notes flung about.
The air smelled of old pages and new pens. Her favorite scent.
Jae-hyun sat a little too close. Not close enough to make her uncomfortable—but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence.
He was speaking to the group about character depth, about quiet moments in fiction that matter more than the big confessions. Seo-ah was only half-listening. Until—
"I think some hearts don't need rescuing," Jae-hyun said, his voice soft, thoughtful. "They just need to be held right."
Time slowed.
Her fingers froze over her notebook.
The world shrank to that one line.
Her line.
That's mine.
Her gaze shot toward him. He wasn't looking at her. He was still talking casually, now shifting to another point about emotional pacing in stories. Like he hadn't just stolen something private right from her heart.
That line was never meant to be spoken aloud.
She had written it in Paper Planes and Moonlight, deep into Seon-woo's first confession scene. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't bold. It was tender. Quiet. Honest. A sentence born from heartbreak.
And now Jae-hyun has said it.
"Are you okay?" he asked, turning his head toward her.
She blinked.
"…Yeah," she said too fast. "I'm fine."
She dropped her gaze and focused on her pen. Her handwriting trembled slightly. Her chest felt like it had been cracked open.
Is this coincidence?
Did he read it? No… he couldn't have. Could he?
That quote wasn't widely circulated. She had never posted it outside the story. No aesthetic edit. No tweets. No screenshot. It lived only in the quiet corners of her anonymous uploads.
Unless he read the story.
But why would Jae-hyun—
She paused.
He read a lot. He liked quiet, raw pieces. He had told her that in one of their midnight chats.
Still…
She couldn't be sure.
Maybe he just thought of the same words.
But something about the way he said it—like it belonged to him—unnerved her.
Her curiosity wrestled with her fear.
She glanced at him again. His fingers moved rhythmically across his notebook. Calm. Composed. Like he hadn't just sent a storm surging through her.
"Do you think Seon-woo would've said that?" she asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.
He looked up, slightly amused. "Who?"
She laughed awkwardly. "Oh, just… a character from a book I read."
"Then maybe he's a better man than most," Jae-hyun said simply, offering a smile.
It felt too easy.
Like he knew.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You sound like him sometimes."
"Is that a compliment?"
She hesitated, just a second too long.
"…Yeah. It is."
They locked eyes briefly. Something shifted in the air.
She looked away first.
Later, as the group dispersed, Seo-ah packed her notes slowly. Her hands lingered over her notebook.
Behind her, Jae-hyun stood quietly, waiting for her like he always did.
She glanced back.
He smiled, gentle and patient.
Her stomach fluttered.
She wasn't ready to believe it yet.
But she wasn't ready to let go of the thought either.