The campus grounds were already alive with laughter, gossip, and footsteps rushing toward lecture halls. But for Ara, it all blurred into static.
Her mind still lingered in the shadows of her bathroom. The warmth of the water, her sobs, the scars—both seen and hidden. Now she moved through the world like a ghost stitched into reality. Her bag hung loosely on her shoulder, and her feet felt heavier with each step through the university gate.
Students passed by in waves, brushing shoulders and smiling in fleeting moments, but Ara's gaze was pinned to the ground. Empty. Distant. Hollow.
Until a shadow stretched past hers. A presence so firm it cut through her fog like lightning.
A clean, rich cologne—subtle and deep—hit her senses. Clounge. She inhaled unconsciously. Her body stiffened.
A breath skimmed her ear. A whisper, low and playful.
"Miss me already, barista girl?"
Ara flinched, snapping her head around—
Taehyun.
He stood behind her with that signature grin. His dark coat moved gently with the breeze, messy hair falling across his forehead, his expression unreadable—equal parts mischief and concern.
"Y-You again?" she muttered, heart jumping into her throat.
He stepped beside her, hands lazily tucked in his pockets. "Mmm," he hummed, amused. "I was half-hoping you'd bump into me again… but I guess I beat you to it this time."
Ara narrowed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. "Do you… always sneak up on girls like that?"
He chuckled. "Only the interesting ones."
She didn't reply. Couldn't. Her thoughts were too chaotic. Her heart was still stuck in the shower—crying, breaking, drowning—and now this boy had shown up like a bolt from nowhere. She couldn't keep up.
Taehyun's tone softened. "You okay?" His eyes, though still teasing, held something warmer beneath them. Something genuine.
She paused...
"Wait a second… are you trying to follow me around in university now too?" she asked, half-joking, half-suspicious.
Taehyun lifted a brow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You could say that." He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her feel flustered. "But this time… I think it's fate."
Ara rolled her eyes. "Fate, huh?"
He nodded with a small shrug, the breeze tousling his dark hair. "I mean—what are the chances we keep bumping into each other like this? The café. Now here. Call it coincidence if you want, but I don't believe in those."
Ara folded her arms. "So what are you doing here anyway? You don't look like a new student."
Taehyun chuckled and finally extended his hand toward her. "Taehyun. Chaebol. Fourth-year, fashion design major."
Her eyes widened slightly at the word Chaebol, but she quickly covered it up.
He continued smoothly, as if he didn't notice. "And I already know you… Ara Jeon. Second-year art major. You're the girl who looked like she wanted to punch someone at the café."
Ara gave him a sharp glance. "You've been… researching me?"
"Not really. Let's just say…" He tilted his head, lips curving into that same charming, disarming grin, "you left an impression."
She looked away, her cheeks warming slightly despite herself. "I didn't ask to leave one."
"Good thing I'm not asking permission," he said casually.
Ara sighed, muttering under her breath, "Unbelievable…"
But deep down, a small part of her—the one buried under trauma, under years of walls and pain—felt just a flicker of something warm.
It was the first time in a long while that someone tried to reach her without expecting something in return.
And she wasn't sure yet if that scared her more… or gave her hope.
The crowded hallway of the art department buzzed with students. Some carried sketchbooks, others with paint-smudged clothes, rushing to their classes or laughing in groups. Ara walked ahead, her footsteps a little faster than usual, trying to distance herself from Taehyun's overwhelming presence.
But she could still feel him following her.
She pushed open the classroom door and entered her studio class—one of her favorites, usually her escape. The large room smelled of paint and wood polish, sunlight streaming through the tall windows onto canvas stands, shelves of art supplies, and unfinished sculptures in the corner.
Ara exhaled deeply and moved to her usual seat by the window. She opened her sketchpad and stared blankly at the empty page. Her hand didn't move.
A moment later, the classroom door creaked open again.
Whispers spread like wildfire among the students. Curious heads turned.
"Is that…? Isn't he from the fashion department?"
"Omg, he's so hot!"
"Why is he here? This is art major…"
Ara didn't even look up. She already knew.
Taehyun strolled in casually, holding a sleek black portfolio in one hand, dressed in a clean-cut designer jacket over a white tee, paired with slim black trousers and heavy boots. His aura was impossible to ignore.
His eyes scanned the room—until they found her.
He walked straight toward her desk.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, tapping the stool beside hers.
Ara glared. "This is an art class. Not fashion."
He sat anyway.
"It's a shared workshop today. Cross-major. Didn't you read the announcement?"
She blinked. What?! She checked her phone. There it was—a university notice she hadn't bothered to read this morning.
Today's workshop: Cross-major Creative Collaboration (Fashion x Art)
Of course.
Taehyun leaned a little closer, lowering his voice only for her.
"Miss me already, barista girl?" he teased with a devilish grin.
Ara clenched her pencil tightly.
"Do you always appear like this? Out of nowhere? Like a cursed coincidence?" she muttered.
He smirked. "No. Only when I think the universe is putting me in the right place." His tone softened just a bit. "Next to you."
Before Ara could reply, the professor entered and clapped her hands. "Alright everyone! Pair up—one art student, one fashion student. Time to blend your visions."
Ara turned back slowly, praying she wouldn't hear it.
And then she did.
"Professor," Taehyun said, raising his hand confidently, "I already found my partner."
Ara looked up sharply.
Their eyes locked.
"You've got to be kidding me," she breathed.
But deep down, something—something wild and restless—whispered that this was only the beginning.