The weekend after the festival felt strangely empty.
No music echoing from the courtyard, no laughter spilling through the dorm halls, no excuses to see her. The quiet should've been peaceful, but it only made the memory of Soo-min's voice linger louder in my head.
I told myself to focus on homework. I even opened my sketchbook. But the pencil hovered uselessly above the page, tracing lines that turned into the curve of her smile before I realized what I was doing.
Pathetic.
That's when my phone buzzed.
Soo-min: You awake?
Me: Yeah… why?
Soo-min: Come out. I'm downstairs.
My breath caught. Downstairs? As in outside my dorm?
I peeked out the window. Sure enough, there she was — standing under the cherry tree that still hadn't lost all its blossoms, hands in her pockets, hair catching the sunlight.
For a second, I thought about pretending I hadn't seen the message. But my legs had other plans.
---
She looked up as I stepped outside, and her grin was immediate. "Wow, you actually came."
"You didn't give me time to say no."
"That's the point." Her smirk deepened. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
And just like that, I was following her down the street like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The afternoon sun was warm, the breeze light. Our shadows stretched side by side on the pavement, close enough that they almost touched.
We ended up at a small cafe near the campus — one of those cozy, quiet spots most students overlooked because it didn't serve anything photogenic enough for social media. The bell over the door jingled softly as we walked in.
Soo-min motioned for a table by the window. "Sit."
"Bossy," I muttered, but obeyed.
She laughed under her breath, setting her bag down. "You like sweet stuff, right?"
"How do you—"
"Yura. She said you'll eat anything with sugar."
I groaned. "She would say that."
When the server came, Soo-min ordered two iced coffees and a strawberry shortcake without even looking at me for confirmation. Somehow, it didn't annoy me. It just… felt easy. Like she already knew what I'd say.
---
The cafe was almost empty, sunlight filtering through lace curtains. The air smelled faintly of roasted beans and vanilla.
"So," she began, leaning back in her chair, "you survived the festival."
"Barely."
Her eyes softened. "You did great, you know."
I fiddled with the napkin. "You already said that."
"Then I'll say it again." She tilted her head, chin resting on her hand. "You looked happy that night. When you were laughing with Yura. When the fireworks started."
My throat went dry. "You were watching?"
"I couldn't not watch."
I looked away, cheeks burning. "You're… so blunt sometimes."
"Would you rather I lied?"
"I'd rather you didn't make my heart explode in public."
Her laugh — quiet but genuine — filled the small space between us. And for a moment, it didn't matter that my hands were trembling under the table.
The dessert arrived. She pushed the plate toward me. "Eat."
"You're really bossy today."
"I'm nice," she countered, "you just get flustered too easily."
I stabbed a piece of cake with the fork. "That's—"
She reached forward suddenly, using her thumb to brush at the corner of my lip. "—what happens when you don't pay attention."
I froze. The cafe blurred around me.
"There was cream," she said softly. "Got it."
Her hand lingered just a fraction too long before pulling away.
---
We stayed longer than planned. Talked about random things — favorite songs, worst group projects, how Yura once accidentally glued her fingers together during art class.
By the time we left, the sun was dipping low.
"Want to walk a bit?" she asked.
I nodded.
The street was quiet, the orange glow of evening wrapping everything in that familiar, almost cinematic warmth. Our footsteps fell into sync.
"Do you ever think about…" she hesitated, then smiled faintly, "how weird it is that we didn't talk much before this semester?"
"All the time."
"Feels like I missed out."
"On what?"
"On knowing you."
My heart tripped. I laughed to hide it. "You're saying things that sound dangerous."
"Maybe." Her voice dropped, a teasing edge curling around the word. "But maybe I mean them."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — just heavy with something unnamed. The kind of silence that hums between two people standing too close to the truth.
---
We stopped by the small park near the dorms, its benches half-hidden under the faint bloom of spring flowers. A few kids ran past chasing a ball, their laughter echoing.
Soo-min sat down and tilted her head back to look at the sky. "It's nice like this. Quiet."
I sat beside her, careful to leave a polite amount of space — which she immediately ignored by leaning in slightly.
"You always do that," I murmured.
"Do what?"
"Invade my personal space."
"I thought we didn't have personal space anymore."
My heart skipped. "Says who?"
Her eyes glinted. "You, maybe. That night at the festival—you said 'as long as we're together,' remember?"
I groaned. "You remembered that?"
"Of course I did." Her tone softened again. "You looked sincere."
"I was sleep-deprived."
"Excuses."
I turned away to hide my smile. She caught it anyway.
For a while, we just sat there watching the last traces of sunset fade into indigo. Her shoulder brushed mine, and this time I didn't move away.
The world seemed to slow — the faint rustle of leaves, the echo of distant laughter, the rhythm of our
---
"Eun-ji."
Her voice broke the quiet. I turned.
She was looking at me — really looking. The kind of gaze that felt like it stripped away everything else.
"I…" she started, then stopped. "Forget it."
"What?"
She shook her head, exhaling. "You just make things complicated."
"I do?"
"Yeah." Her mouth curved into a tiny, resigned smile. "But I don't hate it."
My heart fluttered wildly. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll—" The words caught in my throat.
She leaned closer, close enough that I could see the faint gold flecks in her eyes. "You'll what?"
I blinked. "Forget how to breathe."
Her laugh came out softer this time. "Then maybe I'll remind you."
Before I could even process that, she stood, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. "Come on. I'll walk you back."
---
The walk back was quiet again, but the air between us had changed. Charged.
When we reached the dorm gate, she stopped. "Thanks for coming today."
"You dragged me out."
"Same thing."
I laughed, hugging my arms to my chest. "You're impossible."
Her expression softened. "Maybe. But you're still here."
And then, before I could reply, she reached out — not to touch my hand, not to pull me close, but to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
It was such a small gesture, but it felt like a confession in itself.
"Good night, Eun-ji."
She turned and walked away before I could say anything back.
I stood there long after she disappeared from view, my heart thundering against my ribs, the memory of her touch still burning faintly against my skin.
Whatever this was between us, I thought it might be the beginning of something I wasn't ready for — but couldn't stop wanting anyway.