The crisp scent of autumn lingered in the air as Seo Hana crossed the central courtyard of Sinchon University, her notebook clutched tightly in her hands.
It was one of those rare, golden mornings when the sky felt impossibly clear and the city seemed to breathe a little slower.
But Hana's heart wasn't matching that rhythm.
Ever since the night before, with her sister's unsettling call and the unspoken warning in her voice, a storm of unease brewed in her chest.
And one face kept surfacing in her mind.
Aryan Malhotra.
Something about him made her pulse quicken — not just his presence, or the way he moved like a man apart from the world. There was a weight in his eyes. A story she couldn't place.
And somehow… she wanted to.
Today, she would.
Arjun Mehra was leaning against a stone bench near the old library steps, flipping through a book he wasn't really reading.
His senses stayed on high alert.
The men were still there.
Different faces, same patterns. Unmarked sedans lingering near the campus walls. Shifts at precisely timed intervals. The shadow around Hana hadn't lessened — if anything, it had grown thicker.
And then he saw her.
Approaching, hesitant but determined, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her notebook gripped like a shield.
She stopped a few steps away, cleared her throat, and managed a small, nervous smile.
"Hey," she began, voice softer than she intended. "Got a minute?"
He looked up, surprised, though his expression remained guarded. "For what?"
She shifted her weight. "Well… I know you help Professor Park sometimes. And I've been having a hard time with some of the material from his lecture on post-war geopolitics. I thought… maybe you could explain it?"
She rushed the last part out in one breath, then mentally cursed herself for sounding so awkward.
Arjun raised a brow, closing his book. "You could've asked someone from class."
"I wanted to ask you."
The admission hung there between them.
And for the first time, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of warmth touched the corner of Arjun's mouth.
"Alright," he said quietly, motioning to the bench beside him. "Show me what you've got."
They sat together, and for a while, it was just pages rustling and quiet conversation. Hana listened as he explained concepts in a way no textbook could — crisp, clear, with sharp insights she hadn't expected. His voice, deep and steady, carried an odd kind of calm.
But she noticed other things too.
The faint scar on his wrist.
The way his gaze swept the surroundings every few minutes, reading the crowd like a soldier in a warzone.
The way his fingers tensed briefly when she accidentally brushed his hand.
He wasn't just a foreign exchange assistant.
And she wanted to know who he really was.
Arjun, for his part, felt the pull of it too.
The way she leaned in slightly when curious. The spark of stubbornness when she disagreed. The warmth in her smile.
A softness he hadn't allowed himself near in a long time.
And beneath it all, the gnawing question:
What are you doing in this world, Hana? Who put those men around you?
When they finished, Hana closed her notebook, heart pounding.
"Thanks," she said softly. "I owe you one."
"You don't," Arjun replied. Then after a pause: "But be careful."
She blinked. "Careful?"
His gaze was steady, a flicker of warning beneath it. "Some things around here aren't what they seem."
He stood, gathering his things.
And before she could ask what he meant, he was gone — disappearing into the crowd with the ease of a shadow.
But as she watched him leave, a strange certainty settled in her chest.
This wouldn't be the last time.