The classroom door opened, and Mr Taehyung walked in, his leather bag slung over one shoulder. He was young for a professor, probably in his early thirties, with styled dark hair and an easy smile that made him popular with students.
"Good afternoon, everyone," he said, setting his bag on the desk at the front. "Welcome back."
The class settled into attentive silence, notebooks opening, pens clicking.
Haeun tried to focus on Mr Taehyung's introduction to the syllabus, but she was hyperaware of Minho sitting beside her. The way his arm occasionally brushed against hers when he wrote something down. The subtle scent of his cologne. The way he seemed completely relaxed while she felt wound tight as a spring.
Mr Taehyung began discussing the history of cultural fusion in cooking, and Haeun forced herself to take notes. This was her major. Her passion. She couldn't let Seo Minho distract her from that.
