The cafeteria was louder than usual.
Not the chaotic kind of loud — more like the buzz of anticipation. Club week had everyone slightly on edge, balancing schedules and egos. The Literature Club had decided, somewhat dramatically, to hold its "first official gathering" over lunch.
It was a weird flex.
But Sera went anyway.
She carried her tray past clusters of students, her eyes flicking over familiar faces. Taeyang was surrounded by the Drama Club, reenacting some historical scandal with exaggerated gasps. Minjeong waved from the back of the room, mouth full of rice, giving a double thumbs-up.
Then she saw him.
Jisoo.
Already sitting at the Literature Club table.
Arms folded, tray untouched. He wasn't trying to fit in. He was just there. Like an accidental shadow no one wanted to acknowledge but couldn't avoid.
Sera sat down beside him, quietly.
Across the table sat five other students — two second-years, a quiet senior, and then her.
Han Eunbi.
Chair of the club.
Perfect posture. Perfect hair. Perfectly unpleasant.
"Now that we're all here," Eunbi began, crossing one leg over the other, "why don't we go around and say our names? Maybe what literature means to us. And, of course—" she smiled, "—why we're here."
One by one, the students introduced themselves.
Poets. Aspiring novelists. The shy kid who confessed he only joined because he liked the snacks.
Then it was Jisoo's turn.
He leaned back in his chair. "Kang Jisoo. I don't like people. Books are quieter."
A pause.
Then a couple awkward chuckles.
He didn't laugh.
Next was Sera.
She sat up, spine straight. "Yoon Sera. I like writing because it helps me breathe. And because sometimes, things are easier to say on paper than out loud."
Eunbi tilted her head.
"How poetic," she said, voice sweet. "Is that how your mother felt, too?"
Silence.
It fell like glass shattering.
Jisoo shifted beside her.
Sera's hands froze on her tray.
"Wasn't she the one who used to write under the name Yoon Seojin?" Eunbi continued, her smile still sharp. "My mom had her book. The one about leaving her family. What was it called again... When the Rain Forgot My Name?"
A few of the others blinked in recognition. One girl gasped softly.
Sera said nothing.
Eunbi leaned forward just slightly. "She disappeared from the publishing world after that. I always wondered what happened to her."
Sera's chest was tight. Her throat, tighter.
"My mom doesn't write anymore," she said, voice low.
"Oh," Eunbi said, "how tragic. I suppose some stories just… end."
And then—
Clatter.
Everyone jumped.
Jisoo had slammed his tray down.
Not hard. Not violent.
Just loud enough.
His expression was cold.
"You should stop talking now."
Eunbi blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Jisoo's voice was calm, terrifyingly so. "If you want to sound smart, talk about books. If you want to sound petty, keep going."
Eunbi's smile faltered.
For the first time, just slightly, she looked... unsure.
Sera stood.
"Thank you for the lunch," she said quietly, "but I think I'll pass on the club."
And she walked away.
Jisoo stood too.
And followed.
The rest of the table sat in silence, the kind that hums in your ears after a slap landed.
Outside, in the hallway, Sera leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
Jisoo said nothing. Just stood beside her, staring at the floor.
"She had no right," she whispered.
"She didn't."
"She knew what she was doing."
"I know."
A beat passed.
Then Jisoo, softly:
"Your mom… was she a writer?"
Sera nodded. "A long time ago. Before everything fell apart."
He didn't push for more.
And somehow, that made her want to say everything.
But instead, she turned her head and looked at him.
Really looked.
"You didn't have to defend me," she said.
"I didn't do it for you," he said.
Then, after a beat:
"I did it because I hate people like her."
And for the first time that day—
Sera smiled.
Not because she was okay.
Not because it didn't hurt.
But because… she didn't feel alone.
Not anymore at least.