Chapter 21
The art-festival announcement hit the campus bulletin boards like confetti.
"Annual Spring Exhibition – Theme: Connection."
Posters bloomed everywhere overnight, plastered across lockers and corridor walls.
By the time Yura dragged me to breakfast, everyone was already talking about it.
"They're letting students submit pairs this year!" she said, eyes shining. "You and Soo-min have to do it."
I nearly choked on my toast. "What?"
She grinned. "Don't 'what' me. You two literally breathe art. Plus, it'll look good on your portfolio."
"It's a partnership exhibition," I muttered. "It's supposed to represent connection, not confusion."
Yura leaned forward, smug. "Oh, there's definitely connection."
"Yura!"
She only laughed and reached for my juice. "Fine, fine. Pretend you don't want to. But tell me you're not thinking about it now."
I wasn't—
…until I saw Soo-min walk into the cafeteria, sunlight catching on her brown hair, her laugh slipping easily into the noise of the crowd.
Maybe I was.
---
Studio After Class
By afternoon, the art studio was humming with conversation about exhibition ideas. Paints clinked, canvases scraped.
I tried focusing on my sketch but my mind was elsewhere — on whether Soo-min would ask me to pair up, or if she'd already said yes to someone else.
A tap on my shoulder.
I turned, and there she was.
"Hey," she said, breathless from running. "You saw the announcement?"
"Yeah."
Her smile curved slightly. "Partner with me."
I blinked. "That was… direct."
"I figured you'd overthink it if I tried to be subtle."
She wasn't wrong. "Are you sure?"
"I am. Unless you already promised Yura?"
"Yura doesn't paint," I said, laughing.
"Good," she said simply. "Then it's settled."
And just like that, we were partners again.
---
Planning Session
We met that evening in the library café — sketchpads open, drinks forgotten.
"The theme's connection," I said, doodling lazy circles. "It could be anything — friendship, love, time—"
"Us," she said.
I looked up. "What?"
"Our connection," she clarified, calm as ever. "You said it yourself once — art should be honest."
I swallowed. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything you say."
The words hit me harder than they should've.
Trying to focus, I flipped the page. "So, what would us look like in art form?"
Soo-min leaned forward, thinking. "Maybe two portraits — facing opposite directions but connected by color. Like, even when we look away, there's still something tying us together."
"That's… actually perfect."
She smiled, pleased. "Then let's do it."
---
The Late Evening Sessions
The following days blurred into a quiet rhythm of work. We stayed late in the studio, surrounded by the scent of turpentine and pencil shavings.
Some nights Yura stopped by with snacks, teasing us before leaving. Other times, Hye-jin or Mirae peeked in just to gossip.
But mostly, it was just the two of us — silence broken only by brushstrokes and the occasional soft laugh.
Soo-min painted with fierce concentration, chin-length hair falling into her eyes. When she worked, the rest of the world disappeared.
I caught myself watching too often.
She caught me once, grinning. "You're supposed to be sketching, not staring."
"I am sketching," I said quickly, pretending to fix a line.
"Sure," she teased, but her voice softened. "You always draw better when you're lost in thought."
I turned away before she could see me blush.
---
A Moment Between Brushstrokes
One evening, we were the last ones left in the studio. Outside, rain tapped against the windows.
I was mixing color when the lights flickered.
"Oh, great," I muttered.
Soo-min laughed. "You're afraid of the dark?"
"Maybe."
She moved closer, her voice lower now. "Then good thing I'm here."
Our shoulders brushed, and I froze — heartbeat skipping.
Neither of us moved for a moment. The air smelled of rain and turpentine and something quietly electric.
Then she said softly, "I like painting with you, Eun-ji."
My throat tightened. "Me too."
The lights steadied again, and the moment broke — but the warmth lingered long after we packed up.
---
Dorm Night
Back in our room, Yura was sprawled on her bed with a facemask on.
"You're glowing," she said without looking up. "Either you found a new moisturizer or it's a girl."
I threw a pillow at her. "Shut up."
"Mhmm," she hummed, peeling the mask off. "Tell Soo-min I approve."
"How do you even—"
"She texted me earlier asking if you ate dinner," Yura said, smirking. "If that's not romantic, I don't know what is."
I sighed, lying down. "We're just partners."
Yura rolled her eyes. "Keep saying that until the exhibition ends. Then we'll see who's holding whose hand."
I buried my face in the blanket to hide my smile.
---
Festival Day Approaches
A week before the exhibition, the studio buzzed with nervous energy. Everyone was scrambling to finish on time.
Our piece — "Even When Apart" — was nearly done. Two canvases side by side, colors bleeding from one into the other, meeting in the middle like a quiet heartbeat.
"You really think they'll like it?" I asked, adjusting a line.
Soo-min looked at the painting instead of me. "Doesn't matter if they do. I like it. That's enough."
I smiled. "You always sound so sure."
She glanced at me then, a faint smirk playing at her lips. "Only about you."
My pulse jumped, and she noticed — because of course she did.
"Relax," she teased. "I meant your art."
But the way her gaze lingered made me think she didn't.
---
The Festival Eve
That night, we stayed later than usual to finish varnishing the paintings.
When I finally stepped outside, the campus was quiet — lampposts glowing, puddles reflecting the night sky. Soo-min walked beside me, hands tucked in her jacket pockets.
"Tomorrow's the big day," she said.
"Yeah." I exhaled. "Feels weird. I'm nervous."
She stopped walking. "You'll do great."
"You sound so confident."
She smiled, eyes warm. "Because I know you. And because…"
She hesitated — rare for her.
"Because what?" I asked, heartbeat quickening.
Her lips curved slightly. "Because some things don't need to be said out loud. You'll see tomorrow."
Before I could ask what she meant, she waved goodnight and walked off toward her building, leaving me standing under the lamplight with a thousand unsaid words.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her smile — the one that said more than she ever would.
And maybe that's what scared me most.
Not what she might say someday.
But what would happen when she finally did.