The weekend passed slower than usual.
Rain came and went, the clouds hanging low over campus like they were too heavy to move.
I thought seeing Soo-min again would lift some of the weight off my chest.
It didn't.
It just… changed it.
The ache wasn't sharp anymore — just quiet, constant, like a bruise I kept pressing without meaning to.
Every time I replayed that conversation in the art room — her apology, her voice cracking when she said I missed you — a part of me softened.
But another part still whispered, don't get hurt again.
So on Monday morning, when I walked into class and saw her already sitting by the window, I froze.
Her head turned at the sound of the door, and when our eyes met, she smiled. Not her teasing grin, not her confident smirk — something smaller, careful, hopeful.
I nodded back, then walked to my seat beside Yura without saying a word.
---
Yura leaned in, whispering, "Okay, what's going on?"
"Nothing."
Her brow arched. "That's a lie face."
I sighed. "We talked."
Her eyes widened instantly. "You and Soo-min?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
I hesitated, lowering my voice. "She explained everything. About her cousin. About the rumor. Her parents."
Yura's expression softened, guilt flickering in her eyes. "So she wasn't ignoring you because she was tired of you."
"No," I said, staring at the front of the class. "But knowing that doesn't make it less weird now."
She hummed quietly. "Weird how?"
I hesitated before admitting, "I don't know how to act around her anymore. Like… before, she'd tease me, and I'd roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed. Now every time she looks at me, I freeze."
Yura chuckled softly. "Sounds like you've got it bad."
I nudged her elbow. "Shut up."
"Hey, I'm just saying — people don't overthink this much about someone they don't care about."
I didn't answer. Because deep down, she wasn't wrong.
---
At lunch, the group gathered at their usual spot under the maple tree.
Mirae waved when she saw me, Hye-jin scooted over to make space, and everything felt almost normal.
Almost.
Soo-min showed up a few minutes later, carrying a takeout box.
The conversation faltered for a second — not because anyone meant to make it awkward, but because everyone felt it.
"Uh, hey," Soo-min said, setting her food down. "Sorry I'm late."
Yura smiled easily. "You? Late? The world's ending."
Soo-min smirked, but her gaze flicked briefly toward me. I quickly looked away, pretending to fix my drink.
We ate in a half-normal rhythm. Mirae talked about her project partner being a control freak, Hye-jin complained about her part-time shift, and Yura teased everyone equally.
But between all the laughter, I could feel Soo-min's presence like static — always near, always careful.
At one point, she leaned over slightly. "You haven't been eating much lately," she said softly, her voice low enough for only me to hear. "You okay?"
I forced a small smile. "I'm fine."
Her eyes lingered on me, searching, like she didn't quite believe it.
But she didn't push. She just nodded and looked away.
And somehow, that made my chest ache worse.
---
After lunch, we all walked back toward the main building together.
The group naturally split into pairs — Yura with Mirae, chatting about some club event; Hye-jin walking a little ahead with her headphones in.
That left me and Soo-min walking side by side in silence.
For a few seconds, it almost felt like before. Our steps matched. The air between us was quiet, not tense — just hesitant.
Then she spoke. "You still paint late, don't you?"
I blinked, surprised. "Sometimes."
"You shouldn't stay too long alone in that room," she said gently. "The windows creak like they're haunted."
I laughed, startled by the absurd comment. "You remember that?"
"Of course," she said, smiling faintly. "You almost threw your brush at me when I scared you that night."
"Because you did scare me."
"That's what you get for zoning out."
It was such a normal exchange — simple, teasing, light — but it tugged at something inside me.
For the first time in weeks, I felt the ghost of what we used to be.
But before I could say anything, a group of students passed by, greeting her cheerfully.
"President's cousin!" one of them called jokingly, waving at Soo-min.
She laughed it off, but I caught the faint stiffness in her smile.
My stomach tightened. Even now, the rumors were still floating around.
She glanced at me and sighed. "Guess that's not going away anytime soon."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "People love stories."
"Even when they're wrong," she murmured.
We walked the rest of the way in silence.
---
That evening, back at the dorm, Yura was sprawled on her bed, flipping through her notes.
I was sketching quietly, but the lines kept going crooked.
"You're thinking about her again," she said without looking up.
"Am not."
"Are too." She grinned. "You get this weird concentrated frown every time."
I sighed, putting the pencil down. "She's trying. I can see that. But I keep hesitating."
"That's normal," Yura said softly. "You were hurt. You don't just snap out of that."
I nodded, staring at the unfinished drawing. "She's being so careful now. Like she's afraid I'll break if she says the wrong thing."
"Maybe she's scared of losing you again."
Her words hit harder than I expected.
I closed the sketchbook, whispering, "Maybe I'm scared of that too."
---
Wednesday came faster than expected.
The student council had organized a small volunteer drive, and somehow our whole group ended up helping — Yura claimed it would be "good karma before finals."
Soo-min was there, of course, because of her connection to the council.
Watching her work — focused, calm, joking lightly with other volunteers — made my chest twist with something I didn't want to name.
At one point, we both reached for the same stack of flyers.
Our hands brushed.
I froze.
She didn't pull away right away. Just looked at me, eyes unreadable, until I finally withdrew my hand first.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"You don't have to be," she said quietly.
The moment was brief, but it left my pulse racing long after it ended.
---
That night, I walked back to the dorm alone. The air smelled faintly of rain again, and campus lights shimmered on the wet pavement.
I stopped halfway to the dorms, realizing I was still holding one of the volunteer flyers in my hand — the corner slightly smudged with paint from earlier.
I smiled faintly, shaking my head.
It wasn't the same as before — not yet.
But the distance between us didn't feel impossible anymore.
Just… fragile. Repairable.
When I reached the dorm, Yura was already in bed, mumbling something in her sleep about snack runs. I smiled, setting my sketchbook on the desk before climbing into bed.
As I lay there, I found myself thinking of Soo-min's voice when she said I missed you.
Maybe someday, I'd be able to say it back properly.
But not yet.
For now, I just closed my eyes and whispered into the dark,
"Please don't disappear again."