JIAH POV
I bend down to pull my bag from under my desk.
Then—
Something slips out.
Falls.
Rolls once.
Stops right by my shoe.
I stare at it.
Pink label.
Strawberry milk.
…Huh?
I crouch slowly, like if I move too fast it'll disappear or accuse me of stealing. My fingers wrap around the bottle. It's cold. Like fridge-cold. Not classroom-for-hours warm. Unopened. Clean. No dents.
Definitely not mine.
I straighten a little, still crouched, staring at it like it's a suspicious object in a crime scene.
Okay. First of all. I did not buy strawberry milk today. I remember that very clearly because I stared at it in the store and told myself no, Ji-ah, you are an adult now, you don't need sugar therapy.
Second of all. No one sits under my desk. This thing didn't migrate here on its own.
So… whose is it?
Did someone forget it? Did it fall out of someone else's bag and roll its way into my tragic little life like a delivery from the universe?
I glance around. Everyone's gone. Of course they are. Lunch break. People with functioning emotional states.
My brain starts doing backflips.
Is it Bora's? She does random comfort gestures like that. But she would've said something. She can't keep secrets. She literally narrates her thoughts out loud.
Haerin? Maybe. She's quiet enough to do something like this without announcing it. But she's also the type to apologize six times before giving you anything.
I look down at the bottle again.
It fell from under my desk.
So is it… for me?
Who the hell buys strawberry milk for someone without saying anything? What is this, a mystery rom-com side quest?
I huff a laugh under my breath. "Whoever you are," I mutter quietly, "thank you. I might actually survive now."
My fingers twist the cap.
Click.
The seal breaks.
I take a sip.
Okay.
Wow.
Immediate regret for ever doubting sugar.
It's cold and sweet and hits my system like my brain just got rebooted. My shoulders loosen. My chest feels lighter. My thoughts stop spiraling and start… floating.
I take another sip. Longer this time.
Yep. This is healing. This is medicine. This is emotional CPR in liquid form.
I stand up, bottle still in my hand, and sling my bag over my shoulder. My body feels different. Not fixed. Just… steadier. Like I can breathe without my heart doing gymnastics.
As I head toward the door, I see them.
Bora and Haerin.
Standing there. Waiting.
Bora notices me first and waves aggressively like I might get lost inside the classroom I've been in all year. Haerin smiles, small and relieved.
Something warm spreads in my chest again. A different kind.
I jog over. "Why are you guys just standing there like NPCs?"
Bora scoffs. "Because you take a million years to emotionally recover, obviously."
Haerin glances at the bottle in my hand. "Oh. You got something to drink?"
I nod, lifting it. "Yeah. Mystery milk."
Bora squints. "Did you steal that?"
"No," I say immediately. "But if I did, no I didn't."
We start walking toward the cafeteria, blending into the noise and chaos and smell of food.
As we walk, my brain does one last rewind of the day.
Yeah. The date got cancelled.
But he still talked to me.
He still smiled.
He still looked at me like I mattered, even just a little.
And that counts.
I take another sip of strawberry milk and grin to myself.
I'm not losing.
Not today.
And definitely not forever.
_____________________
ENHYEOK POV
The cafeteria is loud in that irritating way where every sound stacks on top of another like it's trying to win. Trays clatter. Someone laughs too hard. The air smells like fried oil and soup that's been reheated one time too many.
We drop into our usual table without ceremony.
Minseok sits across from me, already peeling the lid off his yogurt like he's in a race. Taeyoung sprawls beside him, stretching his legs out until they're in everyone's way. Jiyon slides in last, hair still damp from washing his hands like a decent human being.
I stab my rice with my chopsticks. Eat. Chew. Don't think.
It almost works.
"So," Taeyoung says, mouth full, "have you seen the first-years lately? The ones near the music room?"
Minseok perks up immediately. "Oh. The tall one with the dyed bangs?"
Jiyon snorts. "You mean the one who keeps pretending she doesn't know seniors exist?"
"That's her," Taeyoung says. "She's dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" Minseok asks.
"She smiled at me," Taeyoung says solemnly. "Then walked away."
Minseok laughs. "That's not dangerous, that's rejection."
Yijun shakes his head. "Nah, the short one's cuter. The one who laughs at everything."
Minseok nods like he's taking notes. "Yeah, yeah. I know her. She asked what grade we're in like she couldn't tell from the uniforms."
"Smart girl," Taeyoung says. "Playing innocent."
I keep eating.
Rice. Kimchi. Chicken. Same taste, same texture, same rhythm. My water's to the right. I take a sip.
Then Minseok looks at me.
Out of nowhere.
"Hey," he says casually. "You drink strawberry milk now?"
Water goes down the wrong pipe.
I choke. Hard. Cough once, then again, sharp and ugly. My chest burns. I set the cup down a little too fast.
Taeyoung freezes. "What?"
Minseok squints at me. "You bought one during break. At the store. You didn't see it?" He looks at Taeyoung. "Did you?"
Taeyoung shakes his head slowly. "Nope."
Minseok turns back to me. "You literally hate that drink. You said it tastes like fake fruit regret. Why would you buy it?"
I don't answer.
I swallow. Take another sip of water. This time properly. My throat still stings.
Taeyoung's eyes light up. "Wait." He grins. "Is it for Areum?"
Minseok's mouth drops open. "Ohhh."
Jiyon joins in immediately. "Ohhh."
Three idiots. One table.
I don't look up. I don't react. I just pick up my chopsticks again and keep eating like my food personally offended me and I'm winning the argument.
It's quiet for half a second.
Too quiet.
I don't know why I bought it.
I don't know why my hand grabbed it instead of the water like it always does. I don't know why I slid it under her desk space, shoved it back far enough that it wouldn't be obvious but close enough that she'd find it when she reached for her bag.
I don't know if she saw it.
I don't care if she drank it.
Minseok nudges my foot under the table. "Hey. Look."
I glance up despite myself.
Jiho's walking past the tables ahead of us, tray in hand, jaw tight. His eyes flick to me. That same leftover anger from earlier. Still simmering. Like he's been replaying it in his head, wishing it went differently.
I look back down at my food.
Why would I waste energy on a loser who can't even stand by his own choices?
I chew. Swallow. Take another bite.
Jiho can glare all he wants.
I'm busy eating.
-------------------
The bus is packed in that end-of-day way where everyone smells like school and exhaustion and impatience. Bags piled on laps. Elbows pressed where they don't belong. Someone's music leaking through cheap earbuds like a dying heartbeat.
I take the seat near the back. Window side. Same one every day.
The bus lurches forward, brakes squealing, engine rattling like it hates its job as much as we do.
Then I notice her.
She's sitting a few rows ahead. Opposite side. By the window.
Seo Jiah.
Of course.
Same route. Same stupid coincidence. Kilometers apart once we get off, but right now? Close enough that I can see the side of her face if I look for half a second too long.
So I don't.
I stare straight ahead. My reflection in the glass looks tired. Jaw tight. Eyes dull. Like someone scraped the day across my nerves and left the mess behind.
She's quiet. No chaotic movement. No whisper-talking to herself. No leg bouncing. Just sitting there, shoulder against the window, phone in her hand but not really using it.
She looks… smaller.
Not physically. Just—contained. Like she folded herself inward and forgot to unfold again.
I shouldn't be thinking about this.
She chose Baek Jiho. Again. After everything. After all the times he's proven he's unreliable, selfish, half-present at best. She keeps chasing him like eventually he'll wake up and become someone else.
That's on her.
People don't magically change because you want them to. That's not how reality works. That's how idiots get hurt.
She's smart in class. Sharp mouth. Fast comebacks. And still—this.
Stupid.
I shift in my seat and look out the window.
The city blurs past. Shops. Crosswalks. A convenience store I recognize. Then—
Cherry blossom trees.
Not fully bloomed yet. Just hints of pink, clinging stubbornly to branches like they're undecided. A few petals already loose, catching the wind, spinning like they don't care where they land.
Spring's almost here.
The bus slows. Sunlight slips through the window at an angle, warmer than it should be.
I glance forward again before I can stop myself.
Her hair moves with the breeze coming through the cracked window. Just slightly. Soft motion. A few strands lifting, catching the light, falling back against her cheek.
It looks… nice.
The thought hits and my brain immediately rejects it.
What the hell?
I look away fast, jaw tightening. Focus. Window. Street signs. Anything else.
She's still stupid.
Pretty doesn't cancel that out. Pretty doesn't excuse chasing someone who won't even hold her place properly. Pretty doesn't make bad decisions less embarrassing.
And I don't care.
I don't care that her shoulders are stiff like she's holding something in. I don't care that her fingers keep tightening around her phone like she's waiting for it to buzz. I don't care that she hasn't smiled once since she got on.
Whatever she's hurting over, she walked into it willingly.
The bus hits a bump. Someone curses quietly. The driver brakes too hard.
Her head knocks lightly against the window.
She barely reacts. Just blinks. Adjusts. Keeps staring outside like the world's happening somewhere else.
I swallow.
Annoyance settles low in my chest. Heavy. Unnamed.
I lean back, crossing my arms, eyes back on the glass.
She's not my problem.
Never was.
____________________
JIAH POV
Saturday.
The worst day to wake up with a tight chest and zero dignity.
I lie on my back staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed me. Sunlight sneaks through the curtains, too bright, too cheerful, like it's mocking me. Today was supposed to be amusement park day. Cotton candy. Screaming on rides. Pretending my heart wasn't permanently on life support.
Instead, I'm in bed. Alone. With my thoughts. Which is illegal.
My chest feels weird. Not dramatic-heartbreak weird. Just tight. Like someone sat on it overnight and forgot to move. I press my palm there, like that's going to fix anything.
Stupid.
I roll onto my side and bury my face in the pillow. It smells like my shampoo and sleep and disappointment.
My phone buzzes.
I don't look at it.
It buzzes again.
Longer this time.
Annoyed.
I already know who it is. There are only three people who call instead of texting, and one of them is my mom, which means this is definitely not my mom.
Bora.
I groan into the pillow. "No."
The phone buzzes again, immediately. Aggressive. Threatening.
If I don't pick up, she will show up at my house. Or worse—send Haerin to knock politely until I crack.
I grab the phone and answer without even checking the screen. "Talk."
There's a pause on the other end. Then Bora snorts. "Wow. Rude. Good morning to you too, sunshine."
"What do you want," I mumble. "It's Saturday. I'm trying to rot peacefully."
"Get dressed," she says. "Come to our usual café. I have something to tell you."
I squint at the wall. "Can this something be told through a text. Or carrier pigeon. Or next year."
"No."
I sigh. "Bro. It's Saturday. I want to sleep. I emotionally clocked out yesterday."
"Ten minutes," she says. "That's all I'll give you."
"Ten minutes for what?"
She hangs up.
I stare at my phone. "She's insane," I tell my pillow. "Clinically."
But I know Bora. When she does that voice, there's no escaping it.
I drag myself out of bed like I'm being summoned to battle. I change into baggy jeans, an oversized T-shirt that might actually belong to my dad, and throw my hair into a messy bun that's doing its own thing. No makeup. Bare face. Maximum IDGAF energy.
I grab my bag and keys and leave before I can overthink it.
The bus ride is slow. Weekend slow. People actually look relaxed, which feels offensive. I sit by the window, knee bouncing despite myself.
What does Bora want to talk about?
Did I embarrass myself again and not remember it? Did Jiho say something? Did she find out something? Is this an intervention?
God. Please not an intervention.
I get off a stop early and walk the rest of the way. The street's crowded. Weekend crowd. Couples. Friends. People holding drinks and laughing like their lives aren't complicated.
I hate them a little.
As I walk, my brain drifts. Uninvited.
What if today actually happened. What if he didn't cancel. What if I was on my way to him right now, nervous and excited and pretending I wasn't already planning our future kids' names like a psycho.
I shake my head hard. "Stop," I mutter to myself. "Get a grip."
That's when I see him.
At first, it's just a familiar back. Broad shoulders. That walk I could recognize in a crowd even if I was half asleep.
My heart reacts before my brain does. Traitor.
Baek Jiho.
My steps slow without permission. A smile creeps up, automatic and stupid and hopeful. Like muscle memory.
Of course he's here. Of course. Maybe this is fate. Maybe the universe felt bad. Maybe—
Then I notice he's not alone.
There's someone beside him.
A girl.