College life found its rhythm faster than I expected. Classes, group projects, hurried lunches, late-night messages—it all blurred together into something familiar.
But what made it truly bearable, even fun, was the people around me.
Five girls. Five storms that somehow formed a constellation I didn't know I needed.
Hye-jin, loud and fiery. Mirae, soft-spoken and steady. Yura, a ball of chaos and sunshine.
And Soo-min.
Always Soo-min.
She wasn't loud like Hye-jin, patient like Mirae, or bubbly like Yura. She was something else entirely—cold, sharp, unpredictable. Yet for reasons I still couldn't understand, she always stayed close to me.
---
The Lecture Hall
The lecture hall buzzed as students shuffled in. Pens scratched against notebooks, keyboards clicked softly. Professor Kang was already at the whiteboard, his messy scrawl covering half of it.
I slid into my usual spot in the middle row, placing my books neatly on the desk.
"Move over," Yura said, plopping down beside me on the left before I even had a chance to breathe. She shoved her bag under the table with a huff. "Ugh, the line for coffee was so long, I thought I'd die before getting here."
I smiled. "You say that every morning."
She grinned sheepishly. "Because it's true every morning."
Before I could reply, a shadow loomed over my desk.
Soo-min.
She didn't ask if the seat was free. She didn't even glance at Yura. She just lowered herself into the chair on my right, setting her notebook down with quiet finality.
Just like always.
Every class since the second week, she had done this. Sliding into the spot beside me as if it were hers. No explanation. No conversation. Just certainty.
At first, the others teased me about it. Yura called it "assigned seating by fate." Hye-jin once joked that Soo-min was my "personal bodyguard." Even Mirae had given me a knowing look or two.
But now, no one questioned it. It was simply routine.
Still, I noticed.
Every time, I noticed.
Professor Kang began scribbling furiously on the board, his handwriting more illegible than usual.
"Is that… a number or a bug?" Hye-jin muttered from the row behind us.
"Both," Mirae replied calmly, flipping a page in her notebook.
Yura leaned across me to whisper, "I swear he's a vampire. Look at his pale skin, the dark circles—he doesn't sleep, he just feeds on student suffering."
I choked on my laugh, trying to stifle it, but it came out too loud.
"Focus."
The single word slid from Soo-min's lips, low but firm. Her pen didn't pause, her eyes didn't leave the board, yet the command sent a shiver through me.
Heat crawled up my neck. I ducked my head, scribbling furiously, pretending to concentrate.
Why did it feel like she was scolding me and protecting me at the same time?
---
Between Classes
By the time the lecture ended, my notes were a messy blend of half-formed equations and doodles. Yura stretched dramatically, nearly hitting my arm.
"I swear my brain melted," she groaned.
"Maybe if you listened instead of whispering vampire theories—" I started.
"They are convincing theories!" she protested, sticking out her tongue.
"Ridiculous theories," Hye-jin cut in, appearing at my other side. She crossed her arms. "Honestly, Yura, how do you survive classes? Mirae, tell her she's an idiot."
Mirae sighed, packing her books with quiet grace. "She's… imaginative."
"See? Mirae understands me," Yura said proudly, throwing an arm around her.
I laughed at their antics, but then felt the brush of fabric at my side. Soo-min had stood, slinging her bag over one shoulder. She was waiting.
For me?
Not a word passed between us, but when I stepped out into the hallway, she matched her pace to mine. Yura, Hye-jin, and Mirae followed behind, chattering loudly.
It struck me then: she didn't walk with the group. She walked with me.
Always beside me.
---
The Cafeteria
By lunch, we gathered at our corner table. Yura collapsed onto the seat at my left, stealing a fry from my tray the second I set it down.
"You didn't even ask—"
"Sharing is caring," she declared, grinning.
On my right, the chair slid back. Soo-min sat, her tray placed with quiet precision. She didn't ask if the seat was free. She never did.
I told myself it was habit. Coincidence. Nothing more.
But my chest tightened every time, like I was waiting for something I couldn't name.
"Eat faster, Eun-ji," Hye-jin scolded between bites. "You chew like an old lady."
"I'm not—"
"She's graceful," Mirae said mildly, sipping her water.
Hye-jin rolled her eyes. "Graceful, slow—same thing."
I laughed awkwardly, only to choke when I felt Soo-min's chopsticks pluck one of my fries.
"Hey!" I turned to her, startled.
Her lips curved in the faintest smirk. "Sharing, right?"
My cheeks flamed. Yura burst into laughter. Hye-jin looked like she might throw her spoon. Mirae, as always, stayed silent, but her eyes glimmered with amusement.
Soo-min ate the fry slowly, smug. I looked away, ears burning.
---
The Hug
It happened after our last class of the day. Yura spun toward me, her grin mischievous.
"Eun-ji, you look like you need this."
Before I could react, her arms wrapped around me, warm and enthusiastic.
I froze. Then, slowly, I hugged her back. Tight. Maybe too tight.
She laughed against my shoulder. "Knew it! You do love hugs."
My face burned, but I didn't let go right away. For once, it felt nice. Easy. Safe.
When we finally pulled apart, I glanced instinctively to my right.
Soo-min was there, close enough that her sleeve brushed mine. Her face was unreadable, eyes locked on us. She didn't frown. She didn't move. But her gaze lingered.
Something twisted in my chest.
"You'll spoil her," she said finally, voice cool. "Careful, she might cling to you forever."
Yura laughed, swatting at her. "Like I'd ever mind."
The others joined in, their voices blurring. I forced a smile, but my thoughts stuck on Soo-min's eyes.
That sharp glint. That silent claim.
Jealousy?
She'd never admit it. She'd never show it openly. But I felt it, buried under her calm mask.
And in that moment, I realized something I couldn't ignore anymore.
The seat beside me—whether in class, the cafeteria, or anywhere else—had always belonged to her.