That night, I couldn't sleep.
The dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the soft snores coming from Yura's bed. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single moment from earlier like my brain refused to hit pause.
The cafe. Her hand brushing cream from my lip. The way she looked at me in the park.
And that last part — the touch, so light and fleeting it shouldn't have meant anything, but it did.
I pressed a pillow over my face and groaned softly. "Get a grip, Eun-ji."
But my pulse wouldn't slow down. Every time I blinked, I saw her again — short brown hair ruffled by the wind, that teasing glint in her eyes, the softness beneath it she never let anyone else see.
What was I supposed to do with all of that?
---
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it instinctively, my heart already knowing who it was.
Soo-min: Still awake?
I hesitated, staring at the screen. It was almost midnight.
Why did she always seem to know when I couldn't sleep?
Me: Kind of. You?
Soo-min: Can't sleep either.
Me: Serves you right for keeping me out so late.
Soo-min: Worth it.
I bit my lip, reading the two words over and over.
Worth it.
Me: You should rest. Big day tomorrow.
Soo-min: You worry too much.
Me: And you don't worry enough.
She didn't reply right away. I thought maybe she'd fallen asleep — until another message popped up.
Soo-min: You looked really happy today. It suits you.
Me: You already said that.
Soo-min: Then maybe I just like saying it.
My heart fluttered violently. I stared at the glowing screen, every rational part of me screaming to change the subject. Instead, my fingers typed before I could stop them.
Me: You make it hard to sleep, you know.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Soo-min: Good.
I stared at the word, warmth crawling all the way to my ears. She was going to kill me.
---
Morning
When morning finally came, it didn't feel real. I'd slept maybe two hours — if that.
"Eun-ji, get up," Yura's voice floated from the other bed. "You look like a ghost who regrets life choices."
"I do regret life choices," I mumbled into my pillow.
"Uh-huh. And do those choices involve a certain someone whose name starts with S?"
I groaned louder. "How do you always know?"
Yura snickered. "You were smiling at your phone last night. It doesn't take a genius."
"Yura—"
She threw a pillow at me. "Fine, fine, I'll stop. But seriously, if this keeps up, I'm charging rent to your daydreams."
I buried my face again, but a smile crept up despite myself.
---
Back on Campus
By the time I reached campus, the spring air felt fresher than usual, the sunlight a little too warm on my face.
Classes had just started, students scattered across the hallway in lazy Monday slowness. I spotted Na-yeon and Ji-hyun by the vending machine — Na-yeon holding two cans of coffee while Ji-hyun poked at the buttons impatiently.
"Morning," I greeted.
Ji-hyun gave me a sleepy nod. "Morning, artist."
Na-yeon, always more observant, raised a brow. "You look different today."
I blinked. "Different how?"
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Less anxious. Or maybe more distracted."
Before I could answer, Ji-hyun handed her a can and yawned. "She's glowing. Must be someone's fault."
"Wha— no!" I protested, but my voice cracked halfway through.
Na-yeon's smirk was unfairly gentle. "It's fine, Eun-ji. You don't have to explain."
They walked off together, leaving me standing there with my face on fire.
---
The Classroom
When I walked into the lecture hall, Soo-min was already there — sitting near the window, sunlight catching the soft brown of her short hair.
My steps faltered for half a second.
She looked up. Our eyes met.
The world did that stupid thing again where it went quiet.
She smiled — small, restrained, but real. I almost forgot how to move.
"Morning," she said when I finally reached the desk beside her.
"Morning," I echoed, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt.
"You look tired."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Same," she said casually, and I didn't miss the flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Wonder why."
I glared weakly. "You're insufferable."
"You keep saying that," she murmured, "but you never walk away."
The professor walked in before I could respond, saving me from spontaneous combustion.
---
During Class
The lecture dragged on, but focusing was impossible. My notebook was a mess of unfinished sentences and doodles that all suspiciously resembled her profile.
At one point, she leaned sideways and whispered, "That supposed to be me?"
I jumped. "What— no!"
Her grin widened. "Liar."
"Pay attention!" I hissed.
"I am. To you."
I could feel my heartbeat echoing in my ears. The worst part? She knew exactly what she was doing.
The professor called on me mid-fluster, and I nearly forgot how to read. When the class finally ended, I was halfway out of my seat before Soo-min caught my wrist.
"Hey."
I turned, startled. Her expression had softened again — quieter, more serious than before.
"Are you free later?" she asked.
My pulse skipped. "Maybe. Why?"
"I want to show you something."
---
After Class
We walked side by side down the hallway, the chatter of students filling the background. Every few steps, her hand brushed mine — maybe by accident, maybe not.
"What are you showing me?" I asked finally.
"You'll see."
"Do you ever answer questions directly?"
"Not when you look cute being impatient."
"Soo-min—"
She chuckled under her breath, steering us toward the back courtyard. There, hidden behind the old gym building, was a small garden — overgrown, quiet, and nearly empty.
I blinked. "I didn't know this was here."
"Most people don't." She looked around, hands in her pockets. "I come here when I need to think."
"Think about what?"
Her eyes flicked to me, calm but intense. "Stuff I can't say out loud."
Something in my chest tightened. "Like what?"
"Like why someone makes my heart do weird things when they smile."
I froze.
The air between us stilled — the hum of distant traffic, the faint chirping of birds, the soft brush of wind against the ivy-covered walls.
My voice came out barely above a whisper. "You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Saying things that make it impossible to breathe."
She smiled faintly. "Then I'll stop."
But she didn't.
Instead, she reached out, fingers brushing mine — tentative, testing. Not a full touch, just enough to make every nerve in my hand light up.
I didn't pull away.
---
We stayed there for a long time, neither speaking. Just the two of us, sitting on the low brick wall, sharing silence that somehow said more than words ever could.
When the wind picked up, a strand of my hair blew across my face. She reached over instinctively, tucking it back behind my ear again.
It was the same gesture as last night — soft, careful, and entirely hers.
"I don't know what this is," I whispered, "but it scares me a little."
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Me too."
Her hand fell back to her side, but the warmth stayed.
And in that tiny, hidden corner of campus, with sunlight falling through the leaves, I realized something had shifted — not loudly, not dramatically, but in the quiet, inevitable way spring becomes summer.
Whatever this was between us, it was no longer something I could pretend not to feel.