JIAH POV
Monday.
Already criminal.
I know it's Monday because my body feels personally attacked and my soul is doing that thing where it tries to crawl back into yesterday and pretend none of this is happening.
I'm late.
Not cute late. Not "oops traffic" late.
I'm why am I like this late.
The bus screeches to a stop and I practically fall out of it, backpack half-open, hair doing something disrespectful, lungs already burning like I smoked ten packs before breakfast.
I look at my phone.
8:31.
School starts at 8:00.
Half an hour.
Thirty. Whole. Minutes.
I laugh. A little. Maniacal.
"Nice," I mutter, breaking into a run the second my feet hit the ground. "Amazing start, Seo Jiah. Really setting the tone."
As I sprint toward the school gate, my brain decides now is the perfect time to remind me of everything else wrong in my life.
Bora.
Oh my god.
Bora.
She is going to murder me.
Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Like—actual homicide. Premeditated. With witnesses.
I ghosted her on Saturday. Accidentally. But still. She told me she had something to say. Something important. Café. Ten minutes.
And I showed up late, spiraled, forgot my purpose, and then she vanished like a side quest I failed permanently.
She definitely thinks I ditched her.
She definitely will not tell me whatever she was about to tell me now.
I groan out loud while running, clutching my bag tighter. "I'm dead. I'm actually dead. She's never speaking to me again."
The school gate comes into view.
And of course—
Of course.
Disciplinary squad.
Standing there like final bosses.
Armbands on. Clipboards out. Judgement loaded.
I slow to a jog, then a pathetic speed-walk, lungs screaming, heart trying to escape my ribcage like it's late too.
I stop a few steps away and bend forward, hands on my knees, gasping like I just escaped a burning building.
"You are doomed, Jiah," I whisper to myself. "Like, astronomically."
A shadow falls over me.
I look up.
Senior.
Tall. Serious. Clipboard. Zero mercy in his eyes.
"You're half an hour late," he says flatly.
I nod, still wheezing. "Yeah. I know. I was there when it happened."
He doesn't smile.
"Name," he says.
"Please open the gate," I blurt. "I will literally do anything. Sweep. Mop. Confess my sins. Join a monastery."
He sighs like I'm a disappointment to society. "Your name."
"Seo Jiah," I say.
He writes it down slowly. Painfully. Like he's engraving it onto my permanent record.
"You'll receive disciplinary punishment," he says.
I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. "Yeah, yeah. Broom. Field. Sweeping. I know the drill. It's fine."
He looks mildly offended by my acceptance.
The gate opens.
I don't wait for permission.
I bolt.
I sprint across the courtyard like I'm late to my own execution, dodging students, nearly colliding with a first-year who squeaks in terror.
"Sorry!" I shout without slowing down.
Third floor.
Why is my classroom always on the third floor?
Who designed this school? A sadist?
By the time I hit the stairs, my legs feel like noodles. My bag is bouncing. My chest is tight. My heart is beating like it just escaped an asylum and is running laps inside me.
I take the steps two at a time anyway.
Second floor hits and I'm already regretting every life choice I've ever made.
By the third-floor landing, I'm fully dying.
I grab the railing, bending over again, sucking in air like oxygen is a luxury item.
"Why… am I… like this," I pant. "I walk… everywhere… except when it matters."
The hallway is quiet.
Too quiet.
That means class is already deep into something important.
I straighten up, wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, and fix my bag strap like that will somehow make me look less guilty.
My classroom door is right there.
2-3.
I stand in front of it for a second longer than necessary, staring at the wood like it might open itself out of pity.
It doesn't.
I reach out and slide the door open.
Every sound stops.
Mr. Han Jaewoo is mid-sentence at the board. Chalk frozen in the air.
He turns.
Slowly.
And then—
Every head in the room turns with him.
Thirty pairs of eyes.
All on me.
I feel myself leaving my body again. This is becoming a pattern.
I stand there, framed in the doorway, sweaty, out of breath, hair a mess, uniform wrinkled like I slept in it (which I did), holding my bag like a shield.
This is not a good look.
Mr. Han adjusts his glasses.
"Seo Jiah," he says calmly.
Too calmly.
"Yes, sir," I croak, bowing instinctively. "Good morning. Sorry I'm late."
The silence stretches.
I can feel the looks.
Curious ones. Judgy ones. Pitying ones.
The worst kind of look.
The oh, it's her look.
Mr. Han glances at the clock. Then back at me.
"Any reason?" he asks.
My brain offers several options.
I overslept because my life is falling apart.
I got emotionally jumped by the universe.
I forgot how time works.
I pick the safest one.
"The bus," I say. "Was… late."
A lie. A weak one. But we move.
He nods once, like he's already exhausted. "Take your seat."
Relief crashes into me so hard my knees almost give out.
I bow again. "Thank you."
I step inside and walk toward my desk, every footstep echoing way too loud in my ears.
I keep my face neutral. By neutral, I mean my mouth is doing that tight line thing like I'm holding in a scream or a laugh or a felony.
I don't look. I absolutely do not look.
Because if I look, I'll trip. Or cry. Or bark at someone. None of those are socially acceptable before first period.
Then—
I feel it.
The gaze.
Heavy. Focused. Murderous.
I glance to my left.
Bora.
Oh.
Oh no.
She's sitting there with her arms crossed, posture perfect, chin tilted slightly down, eyes lifted just enough to promise violence. Not loud violence. Clean violence. The kind that gets away with it.
Her expression says, After school. No witnesses.
I swear I feel goosebumps crawl up my arms.
She tilts her head slowly and draws her finger across her throat.
Silently.
Casually.
I flinch and snap my gaze forward.
Okay.
Avoid Bora.
Live longer.
My brain starts free-falling.
She's not blinking. She hasn't blinked once. Is she blinking? Do humans need to blink? Maybe she evolved past that. Maybe this is her villain arc.
I mouth, I'm sorry, but she just tightens her jaw.
Okay. Cool. I'm dead.
I shuffle forward faster.
Please let Haerin save me. Please. I will buy her snacks for a month. I will stop stealing her erasers.
I look ahead.
Haerin catches my eye immediately.
She looks… calm.
Like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong for her. Like she didn't wake up late. Like she didn't almost get expelled at the gate. Like her best friend didn't emotionally abandon Bora on a Saturday.
She tilts her head slightly, eyes soft.
For half a second, I relax.
Then—
She lifts her hand.
And gives me the most casual, laziest middle finger I've ever seen.
Just one finger. No emotion. No smile.
I choke on air.
What the hell.
My lips twitch. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing because this is not the time, Jiah, read the room.
She mouths, You're late, very gently. Like she's explaining the weather.
I nod like, yes, yes, I am aware of my sins.
I finally reach the last row.
My seat.
Home base.
Safe zone.
I drop my bag down and slide into my chair, heart still racing like it didn't get the memo that I survived.
I let out a breath.
Then I feel it again.
Another presence.
Right. Window seat.
I turn my head.
Yu Enhyeok.
Of course.
Sitting there like he always does. Back straight. One arm resting on the desk. Uniform crisp in a way that feels illegal this early in the morning. Hair neat. Face unreadable.
He looks… mildly annoyed.
Which is his default setting, but somehow worse today.
Why do I feel like I personally offended him by existing late?
I don't know what possesses me.
Maybe the adrenaline. Maybe the lack of oxygen. Maybe my brain is still buffering.
But I smile at him.
Not a cute smile.
Not a friendly one.
Not even a normal one.
It's one of those stiff, teeth-showing, socially incorrect smiles people do when they don't know what to do with their face. The kind that says I am uncomfortable but pretending I am fine.
Instant regret.
His eyes flick to me.
Just for a second.
Side-eye.
Sharp. Quick. Efficient.
Like a silent what are you doing.
I feel my soul evaporate.
Why did I do that.
Why am I like this.
I immediately look away and pretend my desk is the most interesting thing I've ever seen in my life.
I open my textbook.
Hangul explodes.
The letters are moving.
Actually moving.
Dancing. Sliding. Doing little cha-cha steps across the page like it's a talent show and they're auditioning for my last nerve.
I blink.
Hard.
Nope.
Still dancing.
Okay. Great. I've officially lost it. This is how it happens. One day you're late to school, the next day consonants are mocking you.
I close the book.
Open it again.
Shake my head a little like that might physically reset my brain.
"Focus," I whisper. "Please. I'm begging you."
The letters settle.
They behave.
They sit there like normal, boring, innocent syllables.
I exhale in relief.
Thank god.
I grab my pencil from my pouch.
It's the wrong pencil.
Again.
Why do I even carry this one? It barely writes. It's basically a stick with commitment issues.
I try anyway.
The lead scratches weakly across the margin.
Fine.
Whatever.
I start doodling.
Not intentionally. My hand just does it. Little spirals. Tiny stars. A cat with angry eyebrows. A dramatic stick figure labeled me falling down stairs.
I shade in the corners. Then unshade them. Then add dots. Then connect the dots.
My breathing finally slows.
Mr. Han starts talking again. Something about Korean grammar. Something important. Probably on the exam. Definitely on the exam.
Am I listening?
No.
But my body looks like it is, and that's half the battle.
I steal a glance forward.
Bora hasn't stopped glaring.
She catches me looking and raises one eyebrow.
I immediately look back down and pretend my doodle is extremely urgent.
I add a speech bubble to the stick figure.
It says: Why.
Haerin leans back slightly in her chair.
She whispers, barely audible, "You're buying me bread later."
I whisper back, "Two."
She pauses. "Chocolate."
"…Fine."
She smiles like an angel.
I lean back too, careful not to bump Enhyeok's desk because I would simply pass away if that happened.
My elbow brushes the edge of his book anyway.
Barely.
Microscopic contact.
I freeze.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't react.
Doesn't look at me.
Okay. Okay. We're fine. We're both adults. This is normal human proximity.
I shift carefully and focus back on my page.
I draw a window.
Then I shade it dark.
Then I draw light coming through it anyway.
I don't know why.
My pencil finally snaps.
The lead breaks clean in half.
I stare at it.
Of course it does.
I sigh quietly and reach for my sharpener.
It's missing.
I close my eyes.
Of course it is.
-----------
The bell rings like it has beef with me personally.
It's loud, sharp, and final, slicing through the low hum of the classroom and yanking everyone out of whatever mental state they were barely holding onto. Chairs scrape. Bags unzip. Someone groans dramatically like English is a personal attack.
I don't move right away.
My pencil pauses mid-doodle, hovering over a half-finished angry stick figure that kind of looks like me if I were less hot and more unhinged. My shoulders are still tense, my spine locked in that defensive posture I get when I know confrontation is loading.
English period.
Mr. Choi will be here any second. That man does not waste time. He materializes. One moment peace, next moment vocabulary quiz.
I'm just about to close my book when I feel it.
Movement.
A shadow shifts in front of my desk, blocking the light for half a second. I look up slowly, already knowing, already regretting waking up today.
Bora is standing there.
She doesn't sit on the chair in front of me. She doesn't lean casually. She just stands, arms crossed, looking down at me like a disappointed parent who paid tuition.
I force an awkward laugh out of my chest, the kind that sounds like it escaped against its will. "Haha. Hey. You left early on Saturday, by the way. I looked for you everywhere."
My voice cracks on everywhere. Subtle. Embarrassing.
Bora doesn't laugh.
Her eyes flick over my face, scanning like she's deciding where to start stabbing. "I gave you ten minutes," she says calmly. Too calmly. "Then I waited one hour."
She leans closer, lowering her voice, but it somehow feels louder. "You didn't come. Where were you?"
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Because how do you explain spiraling in public like it's a hobby.
"I—" I stop. Rub my forehead. "It's a long story."
From the desk in front of me, Haerin turns around halfway in her seat, chin resting on her palm, expression bored but curious. "Make it short."
I glare at her. She blinks innocently.
I sigh and drop my voice. "I was coming to you. I swear. I was literally on my way."
Bora's eyebrow lifts. "Then?"
I hesitate.
My chest tightens just a little, like my body already knows what memory is about to resurface and would prefer I not. I glance toward the window without meaning to, then back at Bora.
"Then I saw Jiho," I say quietly.
The air shifts.
Bora's posture stiffens. Haerin's eyes sharpen like she just woke up.
"And?" Bora prompts.
I don't answer immediately.
Because there's a pause that deserves to exist. Because some sentences hurt to say out loud. Because saying them makes them real in a way thinking doesn't.
"He was with a girl," I finally say.
Both of them gasp.
Not subtle. Not quiet. Full synchronized shock like they rehearsed it.
"Who?" Haerin asks immediately, leaning back farther.
"Yeah, who?" Bora adds. "From school?"
"I don't know," I say, shaking my head. "I didn't see her face."
Bora's eyes widen. "Wait. Does he have a girlfriend now?"
"No," I say too fast. Instinctive. Defensive. Automatic. "He doesn't."
Haerin squints at me. "Why are you still defending him?"
I open my mouth, then close it.
Because the answer is embarrassing. Because it's obvious. Because it makes me sound pathetic even to myself.
"…He's my crush," I say, quieter now.
There's a sharp scrape beside me.
A chair moving.
The sound slices through my brain like a warning bell, and my stomach drops instantly. I don't even have to turn around to know.
I already know.
Yu Enhyeok stands up.
His chair slides back just enough to announce his irritation. Not dramatic. Just precise. Controlled. Like everything he does. He, doesn't look at any of us, and walks away toward the front of the room.
My face burns.
Oh my god.
He heard everything.
Bora notices my expression and follows my gaze. "What?"
I swallow. "Nothing."
Bora clicks her tongue and looks back at me. "So you saw Jiho with a girl and what? You cried in the streets?"
"No," I say quickly. "I didn't cry."
She gives me a look.
"…Okay, I almost cried," I correct. "But that's not the point."
"Then what did you do?" Haerin asks, dread already creeping into her tone.
I hesitate again.
This is not a flattering part of the story.
"I followed them," I admit.
Both of them freeze.
Haerin's eyes go wide. "Fuck. Did he see you?"
"Almost," I say. "But I got saved by someone."
Bora leans in. "Saved by who?"
"I don't know," I say honestly. "Some guy."
Her mouth opens, ready to interrogate me further—
—and then Mr. Choi walks in.
The room snaps to attention like someone flipped a switch. Bora straightens immediately, shooting me one last murderous look before retreating back to her seat. Haerin turns around too, whispering, "We're not done," like a threat.
Enhyeok returns to his seat a moment later, jaw tight, eyes forward, like we don't exist..
Mr. Choi sets his book down, claps once, and launches straight into class like he always does, no greeting, no mercy. I try to focus. I really do. But my brain is still on Saturday, still replaying shadows and alleyways and a voice asking me if I was stalking someone.
Then the door opens.
Mr. Choi pauses mid-sentence, annoyed. "Yes?"
Mr. Han Jaewoo steps inside, bowing slightly. "Sorry for the interruption."
The class straightens. Whispers ripple.
"I'll be brief," Mr. Han says. "We have a new transfer student joining our class".
My heart stutters.
Why.
Why does that sound ominous.
Mr. Han turns and nods toward the hallway. "Come in."
Someone steps inside.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Familiar posture.
My breath catches painfully in my throat.
No.
No way.
He walks in fully, light from the hallway hitting his face.
Dark eyes. Calm expression. That same unfair, knowing look.
Elevator boy.
My brain short-circuits.
What the hell.