I thought everything would go back to normal after my birthday.
It didn't.
Classes resumed, the same professors droned on about essays and deadlines, and Yura still fell asleep mid-lecture.
But something had changed— and everyone could feel it.
Whenever Soo-min entered the room, the air shifted.
Not dramatically, but just enough for me to notice the way Yura's eyebrows lifted, or how Mirae tried to hide her smirk behind her notebook.
And maybe the problem was that I noticed.
Before, Soo-min sitting beside me had felt casual— like it was just our routine. Now, every time our shoulders brushed, my brain decided to stop functioning altogether.
---
"Eun-ji, are you listening?"
Yura's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She was leaning forward on her desk, looking amused.
"Uh, yeah," I lied.
She grinned. "Sure you are. Totally not staring at Soo-min's hair for five minutes straight."
My face burned. "I wasn't!"
"Mm-hmm." She wiggled her brows. "It's okay, birthday girl. You've been flustered all week. The title of your life fits perfectly."
I threw my pen cap at her. "You're impossible."
She caught it, laughing. "That's what you said about Soo-min once."
---
After class, I tried to escape before the teasing could get worse. But of course, Soo-min was waiting by the corridor, leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world.
Her brown hair fell in that annoyingly perfect way that looked like she didn't even try. She smiled when she saw me.
"Hey," she said softly. "Walk you to lunch?"
"Uh, sure."
We fell into step, our pace slow. The hallway buzzed with students, but it felt like we were in our own small space — quiet, fragile.
"You didn't eat breakfast again," she said after a moment. "Yura told me."
"I wasn't hungry."
Her brows furrowed. "You should still eat something."
I laughed lightly. "You sound like my mom."
"Then your mom's right."
Her tone was calm, not scolding— but the concern was real. It made my chest tighten.
"You've been… checking on me a lot lately," I said.
"Should I stop?"
"No!" I answered too quickly, then looked away, flustered. "I mean— no, it's fine."
She chuckled quietly. "You're easy to fluster."
"That's literally the name of the book," I muttered under my breath.
---
We sat together under the oak tree outside the campus cafe. The sunlight filtered through the branches, making little patterns on her face.
It felt easy, for once— just being there. No rumors. No awkward silences. No misunderstanding hanging between us.
Soo-min picked at her sandwich. "You know," she said casually, "Yura showed me the messages your classmates sent you last night."
I groaned. "Oh no."
"Apparently half the art department now ships us."
My jaw dropped. "She didn't—"
"She did." Soo-min laughed softly. "Even made a poll. 'Who confessed first?' You're currently winning."
I covered my face. "I hate everything."
"Don't," she said, her voice suddenly softer. "They're not wrong to notice."
When I looked up, she was watching me— eyes gentle but steady.
I forgot how to breathe.
"Notice what?" I asked.
She smiled faintly. "That something's… different. Between us."
Her words hung in the air like something fragile and precious.
I wanted to say yes, to tell her that I felt it too— that I couldn't stop replaying every moment we'd shared since that night.
But the words stuck in my throat.
Instead, I looked down at the half-eaten sandwich and whispered, "Maybe. A little."
That was all I could manage.
Soo-min didn't push. She just smiled, that soft, patient kind of smile that said she understood.
---
That evening, I found myself sitting by the dorm window, watching the city lights flicker.
Yura was sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone. "You're thinking too much," she said without looking up.
"About what?"
"Do I have to say it out loud?"
I sighed. "It's not that simple."
She finally looked at me. "You like her. She likes you. What's complicated?"
"Everything."
"Only if you make it."
Her words lingered in the air. I wanted to argue, but I couldn't. Because she was right.
Maybe I was just scared— scared of ruining something that had only just started to heal.
---
Later that night, I checked my phone and saw a message from Soo-min.
> 'Did you eat dinner?'
'I made too much ramen.'
I smiled.
> 'You're still watching my meals, huh?'
'Someone has to. Want some?'
For a second, I almost said no. But then I typed—
> 'On my way.'
---
When I reached her dorm, she was waiting outside, holding two steaming bowls.
"You came fast," she said, handing me one.
"You said ramen," I replied. "That's a sacred word."
We sat on the dorm steps, steam curling in the cool night air.
Neither of us talked much, but the silence didn't feel heavy this time.
Halfway through, Soo-min spoke quietly. "You know, I don't regret anything."
I looked at her. "Not even the rumors? Or… the distance?"
She shook her head. "Not if it led us here."
My heart skipped a beat.
I didn't say anything. I didn't need to.
Because sometimes, the things we don't say out loud are the ones that mean the most.