JIAH POV
I don't move.
Like, at all.
The bell rings for the end of English, loud and sharp, chairs scrape back immediately, voices explode, the room flips into chaos the way it always does—but I stay frozen in my seat like someone unplugged me. My hands are still on my desk, fingers curled too tight around nothing, back stiff, eyes glued forward like if I blink I'll trigger something irreversible.
Mr. Choi packs up his stuff fast, already mentally clocked out, muttering something about homework that nobody hears. He's gone in under thirty seconds, door swinging shut behind him like a blessing I don't deserve.
And the moment he's out?
The vultures descend.
It's instant. Chairs drag. People stand. Girls fix their hair mid-walk like they're in a shampoo commercial. Someone actually gasps out loud, like this is a historical event they'll tell their grandchildren about.
They crowd around Jeonhwa's desk.
Of course they do.
"What was your name again?"
"Are you really a transfer?"
"How tall are you?"
"Wait—are you single?"
I stare at the grain of my desk so hard I might carve my soul into it. The noise blurs together, high and buzzing, like a swarm of flies that discovered sugar. I can hear his voice occasionally, calm, polite, answering just enough to keep them hooked.
"Kim Jeonhwa."
"Yes, I just transferred."
A pause.
"Yes."
Single.
My eye twitches.
Someone asks about his skincare. I swear to god. Another girl leans in way too close, batting her lashes like they might take flight. Compliments start flying. Handsome. Actor vibes. Male lead. Unreal face. Someone actually says unfair out loud, like the universe committed a crime.
What the hell.
Why the fuck is he my classmate.
Out of all possible realities, this is the one I got stuck in. Not even a parallel universe. Just my regular, cursed life. I keep my head down, shoulders tense, trying to make myself invisible, which has never worked for me once in my entire existence.
How do I avoid him.
Do I pretend I don't know him.
Do I pretend I've never been within breathing distance of him.
Do I gaslight myself into believing Saturday was a hallucination caused by sleep deprivation and poor decision-making.
My brain spins.
Should I tell Bora and Haerin?
No. Absolutely not. That's how chaos spreads. Bora would confront him immediately. Haerin would panic on my behalf. Both of them are already staring at him like he's dipped in honey and set on fire.
Traitors.
They inch closer to the crowd, whispering to each other, eyes bright, mouths slightly open. I feel betrayed on a molecular level. I drop my gaze back to my desk, jaw clenched, trying not to scream.
Then, like the universe wants to personally mock me, my eyes flick sideways.
Enhyeok.
He hasn't moved.
He's still seated, posture perfect, notebook open, pen moving steadily like this is just another normal period. The noise doesn't touch him. The crowd doesn't exist. He's in his own quiet bubble of not giving a single fuck.
Of course he is.
I watch him for a second too long, because there's something infuriating about how unaffected he is, how the entire class could be on fire and he'd still be writing clean bullet points.
And then, because my life is a joke, he looks up.
Our eyes meet.
My heart jumps like it got caught doing something illegal. I look away instantly, staring hard at my desk again, pulse racing for no reason that makes sense. What is wrong with me today.
Should I take two days off.
Fake sick.
Fake death.
Move countries.
The introductions keep going. People say their names. Clubs. Hobbies. Relationship status, which is insane behavior but nobody's stopping them. Jeonhwa smiles and nods through it all, polite, charming, saying the right things with that calm voice that makes everyone lean in.
I don't know his personality.
I just know he won't be nice.
Bora finally steps up, bright smile, confidence dialed to eleven. "I'm Han Bora," she says cheerfully, like she's auditioning. "Single. Obviously."
I physically cringe.
Haerin follows, softer, gentler, introducing herself and immediately apologizing for no reason. Jeonhwa listens to both of them with the same polite attention, nodding, smiling lightly.
I hate this.
I drop my gaze again, fingers tapping once against my desk, anxiety buzzing under my skin. Please don't notice me. Please don't come over here. Please don't—
Tap.
Something knocks lightly against my desk.
I freeze.
Slowly, like I'm in a horror movie and the killer is right behind me, I look down first.
A hand.
Long fingers. Clean nails. Holding a yellow pencil.
My pencil.
I follow the arm upward.
Uniform sleeve.
Broad shoulder.
Face.
Fuck.
It's him.
Up close again. Calm. Unbothered. Looking at me like this is the most normal interaction in the world. Like he didn't pin me to a wall two days ago and watch me panic-breathe.
I blink once, then straighten slightly, putting on my best confused expression. "What?"
He lifts the pencil a little. "You dropped this."
That's it.
No smirk. No comment. No exposure.
I stare at the pencil for half a second too long, then snatch it from his hand like it might explode. "Oh. Yeah. Thanks."
My voice comes out flat. Casual. Almost convincing.
Like I don't know him.
Like he's just some guy.
He nods once, small and unreadable, then steps back.
Behind him, someone squeals.
"Oh my god, he's so kind."
"He's literally perfect."
"He picked it up for her!"
I grip the pencil tighter, jaw locked, face burning.
I don't look up again.
I don't breathe right again.
And I definitely don't look at him again.
Because if I do, I might lose my mind entirely.
I'm still staring at my desk like it personally owes me an apology when a shadow falls over it.
Then another one.
Then the sound of fabric moving, chairs scraping, bodies invading my personal space without consent.
Great. The cavalry.
Haerin slides into her seat, the one directly in front of Enhyeok, her movements careful and quiet like she's afraid of disturbing the air. Bora, on the other hand, fully steals Minseok's seat in front of mine like it's her God-given right, dropping into it backward, elbows immediately on my desk.
I don't look up.
I already know this is going to be bad.
Bora leans closer, voice dropping into an excited whisper that still somehow feels loud. "God," she breathes, eyes flicking past me, "that guy is so fucking handsome."
I squeeze my pencil a little harder than necessary.
Haerin nods slowly, way too seriously, eyes wide in that soft, overwhelmed way she gets. "He really is," she whispers back. "Like… unreal. Jiah, why didn't you introduce yourself to him?"
My brain trips.
Hard.
I did.
On Saturday.
In an alley.
While stalking my crush.
And it was horrible.
The words stack up in my throat, screaming to get out, but instead I just shrug without looking up. "I don't need to," I mutter, tone flat, like this is about borrowing a pen and not my rapidly collapsing mental stability.
Bora rolls her eyes so hard I can practically hear it. "You're insane. He looks like he walked out of a drama poster. We should definitely befriend him, okay?"
She says okay like it's a decision already finalized by the universe.
I finally look up, glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Do you guys have nothing to do?" I ask. "Like. No homework. No lives. No sense of self-preservation?"
Haerin blinks at me, frowning slightly. "What's with this behavior?" she asks gently, which somehow makes it worse. "You're acting weird."
I laugh under my breath, humorless. Weird doesn't even cover it. Weird is forgetting your locker code. Weird is calling the teacher mom. This is active crisis management.
Bora squints at me, suspicious now. "You didn't see Jiho today, did you?"
My jaw tightens instantly.
There it is.
The name lands heavy, ugly, dragging everything else down with it. The image flashes without permission—Jiho's back, the alley, the girl beside him, the smile that wasn't meant for me. My chest tightens, sharp and familiar, like muscle memory I hate.
I look back down at my desk.
"Can you not," I say quietly.
Bora's expression shifts just a little, confidence dimming. She clicks her tongue softly. "Oh."
Haerin glances between us, worried now, hands fidgeting in her lap. I can feel it bubbling, the questions, the concern, the inevitable emotional intervention that I absolutely do not have the capacity for today.
The fear spikes suddenly, irrational but loud.
What if he hears.
What if Jeonhwa hears his name.
What if he connects dots I'm desperately trying to erase.
My head starts pounding.
"I have a headache," I say quickly, rubbing my temple like I planned this. "Seriously. Can you guys go?"
Bora hesitates, studying my face, then sighs dramatically. "Fine," she says, standing up. "But you're being weird. Like, aggressively weird."
"Noted," I mutter.
She walks back to her seat, still glancing over her shoulder like she's not convinced. Haerin lingers a second longer, eyes soft, like she wants to say something kind and supportive and unnecessary.
Then she turns around slowly, facing the front again.
I sag back in my chair slightly, exhaling through my nose.
Okay.
Damage control.
I keep my eyes on my desk, counting the tiny scratches in the wood, grounding myself in stupid details. The noise level slowly dips as people drift back to their seats, conversations breaking off reluctantly. I don't look up. I don't look sideways. I don't exist.
New plan.
Avoidance.
Hardcore.
No talking. No eye contact. No sudden movements. I will become background noise. A chair. A desk. A forgotten extra in someone else's story.
I tilt my notebook, pretending to read, even though the words blur. My brain keeps hyper-focusing on where he is without actually looking. I can feel it, that awareness, like standing too close to a heater.
Is he still being surrounded.
Is he looking over here.
Is he looking at me.
Stop.
I shift slightly in my seat, careful not to draw attention. My shoulders stay tense, spine straight, every movement calculated like I'm navigating a minefield. I keep my bangs low, head angled down, hoping it blocks peripheral vision.
If I don't look at him, he can't look at me.
That's how it works.
Right?
My thoughts spiral anyway, listing escape routes like a deranged strategist.
Sit closer to Haerin during breaks.
Leave class early.
Come in late.
Always be talking to someone else.
Never be alone.
Never make eye contact.
Never breathe in his direction.
This is exhausting.
I rub my forehead again, slower this time, pulse still jumping for no reason. I hate that he's here. I hate that he knows me in a way no one else in this room does. I hate that one stupid coincidence keeps bleeding into everything.
I straighten my notebook, finally forcing myself to write something, anything, just to look busy.
Survive the day.
That's it.
Just survive.
And maybe, if I'm lucky, I can get through this without ever looking at Kim Jeonhwa again.
------------------------------------
By the time math ends, my brain feels like it's been microwaved.
Numbers blur into lines, lines blur into nothing, and all I can think about is how exhausting it is to exist in the same room as someone who could ruin my life with one sentence.
The bell rings and I flinch like it personally insulted me, then force myself up because staying seated forever is not, unfortunately, an option.
I end up walking across the field with Bora and Haerin, the grass crunchy under our shoes, sun too bright like it's mocking me. They're talking. Obviously. Loudly. Enthusiastically. With zero regard for my mental state.
"I'm serious," Bora says, swinging her bag, eyes lit up. "That guy is actually insane-looking. Like, unfair genetics. Someone should arrest his parents."
Haerin nods, tucking hair behind her ear. "He looks… very clean," she adds, which is her version of wild.
I hum noncommittally, eyes fixed straight ahead, hands buried in my pockets like they might anchor me to the ground. My brain refuses to conjure Jeonhwa's face, like it's protecting me from a traumatic memory.
Yeah, he's handsome. Sure. Whatever.
But also, my dignity is currently sitting in his pocket like loose change.
I don't say any of this out loud.
I just keep walking.
Bora notices immediately. Of course she does. She slows down a step, tilting her head at me. "Why are you so quiet?" she asks. "You've been mute since morning."
I shrug. "Just tired."
She snorts. "No, you're not. You only go quiet when Jiho's not involved."
I almost trip.
Haerin looks at me, cautious now. "Is that why?" she asks softly.
I want to scream.
I want to throw myself into the grass and roll until I disappear. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek and keep walking, jaw tight, lungs doing that shallow thing they do when I'm trying not to lose it.
I want to kill everyone.
Just a little.
We reach the building, and before I can come up with an excuse to fake my own death, the bell rings again, herding us toward art.
Haerin and Bora are already ahead, chatting as they head down the hallway.
"Come on, Jiah!" Bora calls over her shoulder.
"I'm coming," I say, slower, deliberately lagging behind.
I duck back into the classroom instead, heart pounding, fingers already digging through my bag. Pencil. Where is my pencil. I literally just had it. Why does everything I own abandon me when I need it.
The classroom is empty now. Chairs tucked in. Windows open. Quiet in that weird, hollow way that makes every sound echo. My bag rustles too loud as I dig, anxiety spiking for no logical reason.
"Come on," I mutter under my breath. "Don't do this to me."
I find it at the bottom, buried under old papers and regret, and straighten up just as the door slides open.
"I'm coming, Bora," I say automatically, already turning—
And stop.
Because it's not Bora.
It's him.
Jeonhwa stands in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, expression calm like he didn't just trap me in an empty classroom with my worst nightmare. The hallway behind him is empty. Silent. Like the universe cleared out just for this.
My heart slams so hard I swear it rattles my ribs.
Oh. No.
My body reacts before my brain does. Pencil clenched in my fist, I pivot sharply toward the back door, already planning my escape route like a feral animal.
I make it two steps.
His hand wraps around my wrist.
Firm. Unyielding. Not violent, but not gentle either.
Before I can even process it, my back hits the wall, breath knocking out of me in a sharp burst. The pencil slips from my hand and clatters to the floor, loud in the silence.
I freeze.
Not because I want to.
Because my brain just… stalls.
This was not in the plan.
I force myself to look at him, chin lifting, refusing to shrink even though my pulse is screaming. His face is close now. Too close. Eyes steady, unreadable, that same infuriating calm from Saturday like chaos doesn't apply to him.
"What do you want?" I ask, voice tight but controlled. I refuse to let it shake.
One corner of his mouth lifts, slow and deliberate. "Seo Jiah," he says, like he's tasting the name. "That's your name, right?"
I don't answer.
I stare at him, jaw locked, nails digging into my palm.
He watches my silence like it confirms something. "You've been avoiding me," he adds casually, like he's pointing out the weather.
I let out a sharp laugh. "Who the fuck are you?" I snap. "Let go."
He chuckles, low, almost amused, eyes flicking briefly to where his hand still holds my wrist. He doesn't move it. "Relax," he says. "You act like I bit you."
"Back off," I say, flat and clear. "Now."
His gaze sharpens, just a fraction, the humor thinning. He leans in slightly, enough that I can smell his cologne, clean and irritatingly calm. "You're terrible at pretending," he murmurs. "Your face gives you away every time."
My chest tightens.
He straightens, grip still firm. "Should I tell everyone," he says lightly, "that you followed your crush down an alley like a detective with no budget?"
My blood goes cold.
I'm screwed.
______________________
AUTHOR NOTE:
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