MIN-JAE
I was not the kind of person who got distracted easily. It came with the job—focus. Always. Even when your body was running on five hours of sleep and your face needed to look like it had slept ten. Even when your manager was rattling off the next three months of your life and your stylist was fixing your collar and your assistant was asking if you wanted barley tea or lemon water.
You focus. You stay present. That's what I'd trained myself to do.
But for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the girl from the university.
The same girl I'd seen twice now.
Once in a hallway after the casting session—that weird moment I'd chalked up to déjà vu. And then again during the department festival when she ran straight into me. Like, actual contact. My assistant Tae-ho wasn't there to shield me that day. He was still on his honeymoon. I let myself be a normal person for once, blend in, walk the hallway without someone clearing the way.
And then… she happened.
I couldn't even describe what was so memorable about her. It wasn't that she was stunning, though she was pretty in a way that felt entirely uncurated. It wasn't the dramatic bump or the stuttering half-apology or the fact that she just froze and stared up at me like the universe had glitched.
It was her eyes. There was a recognition in them that wasn't about fame. It felt… mutual
I didn't even get her name. Just a voice, a moment, and then she disappeared into the crowd like something out of a film.
Except this wasn't a film. This was real. And that moment kept replaying in my mind like a scene I'd forgotten I was in.
I thought it would pass. The memory. The weird pull in my chest. I told myself it was probably the novelty of being bumped into without security around. Or maybe it was just one of those things your brain loops because it didn't have closure. Like when someone waves and you think it's at you, so you wave back, but it was for someone behind you, and then your brain replays the shame on loop.
Except this wasn't shame. Or embarrassment. Or even curiosity.
It was something quieter. Stranger. Like something in me was trying to remember a dream I'd half-forgotten.
And I was starting to get annoyed about it.
Not because I didn't want to think about her. But because I didn't know anything about her. Not even her name. Just flashes. Her voice. Her face. Her eyes.
Then came the university lecture panel.
It was part of some cultural event week, and the department invited a handful of public figures to talk about creativity and storytelling. Half of us were there for PR, the other half probably just wanted a break from filming. I didn't mind panels. They were predictable. Controlled. You sit, you smile, you talk, you leave.
Until it wasn't.
Because there she was, sitting in the fourth row like some cosmic joke.
At first, I thought I imagined it. I kept blinking like maybe it was just someone who looked like her. But no. It was her. Same wide eyes. Same subtle tension in her shoulders, like she wasn't used to being still. Like she was always ready to react. I knew that look. I wore it too, in my early days.
I kept checking back in with myself. Focus, Min-Jae. Talk about the evolution of your scripts. Say something smart. Don't stare. Definitely don't smile. Don't let anyone see you recognize her.
Then the Q&A opened.
It was supposed to be one of those fast wrap-ups. A few polite questions, maybe a selfie request. The usual.
Until she raised her hand. Not high. Just enough. The moderator pointed to her. "Yes, you, in the green hoodie. Go ahead."
She cleared her throat. "Um, this is a question for Min-Jae-sunbaenim." Her voice. Again. I froze for half a second. It was smoother this time. More confident than the last time we spoke. Like she'd rehearsed.
"You mentioned earlier about your roles being shaped by cultural memory," she said. "How do you balance authenticity in local storytelling with the global audience you now have?"
Even the moderator paused. "Wow. That's a very sharp question."
It was. A real question.
Not about my favorite snack or workout routine. Something deeper. Academic, even.
I leaned forward slightly in the chair, mic still in hand. "That's a good question. And a complicated one. I think part of the balance comes from knowing who you are as a creator first, before thinking about who's watching. You have to honor the culture that raised you, and also recognize that stories connect us all. So it's less about translating perfectly and more about telling the truth in a way that people feel it, even if they don't understand every detail."
She nodded. Just once. Like she'd been listening to the words, not the delivery. Like she wasn't trying to impress anyone.
And that should've been the end of it.
But then the student beside her leaned over to whisper, too loudly, "Tomi, you didn't tell me you were gonna ask a question!"
The mic didn't catch It.
But I did.
Tomi
The name hit like a key sliding into a lock.
I turned the syllables over in my head. To-mee It fit her. No edits needed.
I said the rest of my panel answers on autopilot. Smiled when I was supposed to. Posed for the group photo at the end. But in my mind, I was just repeating the name. Trying to pronounce it right.
toh-mee
It felt like something important had been unlocked.
Backstage, I leaned against the wall with my phone in hand, still buzzing from the final applause.
Tae-ho handed me a water bottle. Are you okay?
I nodded. Yeah. Just thinking.
He glanced at me. You were staring at that one girl. Hoodie. She sat in the fourth row. I didn't deny it. Do you know her?" I shook my head. I do now.
Tae-ho squinted. "Did she ask for a selfie or something?"
"No. She asked a question."
He waited. Her name is Tohmee He blinked. That's a new one.
I smiled to myself. Yeah. It is.
TOMI'S POV
I should've stayed quiet.
That was my first thought as we left the auditorium, weaving through a crowd of excited students buzzing about their favorite panelists.
"That was insane," Yuri kept repeating. "Did you see the way he looked at you? Like, looked looked."
"He looked at the whole audience," I muttered, pulling my hoodie up.
"No, babe," Sasha said, slipping her arm through mine. "He zoned in. Like a slow pan in a drama before the OST swells."
"You're exaggerating."
"Maybe. But am I wrong?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was, I felt it too. That moment of stillness, right after I asked the question. The way he blinked—just once, slowly—before leaning forward and answering like I'd said something that mattered. Like I was more than a green hoodie in a sea of students.
And then Sasha said my name out loud, and I knew.
He heard it.
He heard me.
By the time we reached the student lawn, my feet felt like bricks. I needed to sit down. Breathe. Lie face-down in the grass and let the earth absorb my humiliation and confusion in equal measure.
Instead, I sat on a bench under one of the campus's few ginkgo trees, watching yellow leaves drift to the pavement.
"I think I broke myself," I said finally.
Yuri tossed me a Choco Pie. "You cracked your celebrity crush shell. There's no going back."
"Wait," Nia said, pulling out her phone. "The student photographer posted behind-the-scenes shots. Look."
There, in sharp, glossy color, was the group photo from the end of the panel. All the guest speakers lined up in front of the stage. Min-Jae in the middle.
But his head wasn't angled toward the camera.
He was looking offstage.
Looking at me.
My heart did a double kick.
No. No, no, no.
"This is bad," I said, standing up so fast I nearly dropped my bag.
"Why is it bad?" Yuri asked, clearly loving the drama.
"Because I came here to focus. To study. To blend in. Not to have… whatever this is."
"You mean your accidental campus love arc with the nation's heartthrob?" Sasha supplied.
"It's not an arc," I hissed. "It's a coincidence. A glitch. A blip in the simulation."
Nia was already typing something. "Just so you know, the TikTok edits from the Q&A are gaining traction."
"Delete the app."
"You said that last time."
And I meant it.
I paced for a few seconds, then stopped.
Because deep down, buried under all the panic and secondhand embarrassment, something else was bubbling up.
The tiniest flicker of it. Like maybe the universe had cracked open and left me a breadcrumb trail. Like maybe I wasn't here just to survive lectures and eat overpriced strawberry bagels.
Maybe something was unfolding.
Slowly. Weirdly. Unexpectedly.
And maybe… I didn't hate it.
Still, I said nothing as we made our way back to the dorm.
Because if I said it out loud, it would become real.
And I wasn't ready for that.
Not yet.