TOMI'S POV
The night Han-ji stormed out of Min-Jae's apartment, I wasn't there. But he told me everything later, and the way he wrote about it made me feel like I had been. I could picture it—his jaw set, his knuckles white around the crutches, the way Tae-ho probably looked like a wall when he blocked Han-ji from getting closer. The whole thing left me shaken in a strange way, not just because of her audacity, but because it showed me something I already suspected deep down: I was stepping into a world where people like Han-ji existed. People who didn't care about boundaries, who thought they were entitled to other people's lives. And Min-Jae… he wasn't just anyone. He was someone she'd had, or thought she had, a claim on. The first thing I typed back when he told me about it wasn't clever or brave. It was just: Are you okay? He replied almost instantly. MJ: Better now. Don't worry about her. She's banned from even breathing near my door. That made me laugh, but my stomach still knotted tight. It was that night when he sent the message that stopped my heart. MJ: Tomi… what are we doing? I blinked at the screen, reread it. My pulse went crazy. Me: Doing?? Like studying?? 😅 MJ: No. Us. You and me. I don't want this to be random. I want it to be real. My breath caught. Real. I sat there, phone in my palm, staring at the typing bubble popping in and out as I tried to string words together. Finally, my thumbs betrayed me. Me: Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend? 😳 I half-expected him to dodge, to laugh it off. Instead: MJ: Yes. I'm asking. My heart thumped so hard I thought Yuri could hear it through the wall. Me: Then yes. I'm your girlfriend. Officially. 😅 There was a pause, then three dots, then nothing. For five seconds, I panicked—what if he was just teasing? But then my phone buzzed again. MJ: You just made me the happiest guy in the world. Exams were the only thing keeping me grounded. One week. One insane, exhausting week. My head was full of formulas, essay outlines, practice questions. My room looked like a war zone of highlighters, textbooks, and empty snack wrappers. Nia played Afrobeats in the background when she studied; Yuri paced the floor with flashcards; Sasha… well, Sasha had been MIA since our fight. Her side of the room stayed untouched most days, like she had made the library or some other corner of campus her new base. I messaged her three times that week, short and careful: We need to talk. Please answer. Sasha, I don't want us to be like this. Nothing. No read receipts. No reply. No accidental like on Instagram. It hurt more than I admitted, but I told myself what I always did—she'd show up for exams. Sasha wasn't the type to throw away her GPA for pride. I'd catch her in the exam hall, maybe sit next to her, maybe just force a smile until she softened. Until then, my sanity came in the form of Min-Jae. Every single morning, my phone buzzed before my alarm. MJ: Wake up, genius. Today's the day you crush another paper 💪 MJ: Drink water. And coffee if you must. But water first. Sometimes there was a meme attached—a badly edited picture of a bunny lifting weights, or a cat looking like it had failed an exam. I'd laugh into my pillow before dragging myself up. By afternoon, when I stumbled out of the exam hall feeling like my brain had been fried in hot oil, there'd be another message. MJ: How was it? Scale of 1 to crying in the bathroom stall? The gifts started showing up too. The first time, I nearly died of embarrassment because it came while I was still surrounded by classmates. A delivery guy walked into the common room with a neat brown bag. "Delivery for Tomi?" Everyone turned. My cheeks went hot, but I raised my hand. Inside: my favorite Nigerian plantain chips. The note made me choke-laugh. For brain power. Don't say I never helped you study. I clutched it to my chest like it was gold. The next day, it was a tiny bunny keychain. Day three, a bottle of vitamin water with a handwritten card tucked under the cap. Day four, herbal tea that smelled like mint and honey. By the fifth day, when I opened the small velvet pouch and saw the silver necklace, I just sat on my bed for a full minute, staring at it. It wasn't flashy or designer, just simple and clean—something that felt like me. When I called him that night, my voice cracked. "Min-Jae… you didn't have to—" "I wanted to," he interrupted softly. "Do you like it?" "Like it? I love it. But you're making me spoiled." "Good," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "You deserve to be spoiled." I touched the pendant as I fell asleep that night, thinking about how strange it was to feel this cared for when I was thousands of miles away from home. I threw my pillow over my face to muffle the scream. The final exam on Friday barely mattered anymore. I went in with my necklace under my shirt, my chest so light I could've floated. The questions were hard, but I powered through them with the promise I'd whispered to him the night before still echoing in my head. After tomorrow, I'll come over. And I'll stay for a week. My hand shook as I wrote the last essay answer. Not from nerves this time, but from excitement so strong it made me dizzy. When the invigilator finally called, "Pens down," I sat back, my heart already racing ahead of me. Not toward grades. Not toward GPA. But toward him. Toward a week in Min-Jae's world.