Seo-ah's POV
The words wouldn't stop spinning.
That quote. Her quote. From Paper Planes and Moonlight.
She had memorized it long before she ever posted it. Typed it with trembling fingers, edited it three times, left it under the moonlight of her dorm room with nothing but the hope that someone might understand.
And now, it sat there, in Jae-hyun's handwriting — perfectly penned in the margins of his notebook.
"Some hearts don't need rescuing. They just need to be held right."
Her stomach twisted.
She sat frozen at her desk, unable to focus on the lecture. Professor Min's voice turned to a muted blur as her heart pounded louder than anything else in the room.
Her mind raced back to every moment.
The umbrella walk. His poem. The night at the library.
Every single word. Every lingering glance. Every quote he tossed like a pebble across her guarded lake.
Jae-hyun hadn't noticed. He was focused, head down, occasionally underlining something in his book.
Seo-ah's fingers clenched around her pen. Her chest tightened. Her throat dried. It wasn't just a quote. It was hers. It was a line she bled onto paper.
And he had it.
When class ended, she didn't wait. She stood, gathered her things with shaking hands, and walked out — not even caring that she was leaving her favorite pen behind.
Jae-hyun followed. "Seo-ah!"
She stopped only when they reached the side corridor near the literature wing. Empty. Quiet. Too quiet.
She turned to him, her voice dangerously low. "You read it."
He blinked. "What?"
"You read it." Her voice cracked between syllables. "Paper Planes and Moonlight. My story. You read it. Didn't you?"
His lips parted, stunned. Guilt flooded his eyes before words could reach his mouth.
"I found your quote," she whispered, lifting her gaze to meet him. "Not just any quote. My quote. My words. In your handwriting. In your notebook."
He stayed quiet. That silence was louder than anything he could've said.
"I never told anyone," she continued, voice trembling. "Not about the story. Not about MoonWriter. Only Ji-won knows. And even she never read the full drafts. But you... you quoted it like it was yours."
"Seo-ah—"
"When?" she demanded. "When did you find it?"
He looked down. "Before we met. Online. I didn't know it was you. Not at first."
"And when you did?" she asked, eyes glassy. "When did you realize?"
He hesitated. "After you dropped your diary. That day in the library."
Everything inside her went cold. "You knew all this time. And you never told me."
"I didn't want to scare you away," he said softly. "I wanted to know the real you. Not just the one behind the words."
"You read my soul," she whispered. "You knew the ugliest parts of me. The parts I only write about because I can't say them aloud. And you just—what? Carried that in silence?"
His jaw tightened. "Because your words mattered. Because you mattered. I didn't want to make it about me."
Seo-ah's breath hitched. She turned away, arms wrapped around herself.
"I feel... invaded," she muttered. "Like you got to see me before I ever gave you permission."
"I'm sorry," Jae-hyun said, voice barely audible. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I loved the story. Then I loved the person behind it."
Her throat burned. The hallway felt too narrow, the air too loud. Her thoughts clashed in violent waves.
"That story was my way of bleeding quietly," she said. "And now it feels like you watched me bleed and stayed hidden."
"I stayed because I was scared you'd run."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Well, congratulations."
She took a step back, wiping at her eyes.
"You should've told me. Before quoting it. Before using my own words to make me feel seen."
"I didn't use them to manipulate you."
"I know," she snapped. "But it still hurts."
A silence passed. The kind that bruises.
"You quoted something I wrote in a moment of heartbreak," she said more quietly now. "A moment I never thought anyone would witness. Not like that. Not like this."
He looked away, guilt written in every line of his face. "I just didn't want to lose what we had. You seemed like you were finally smiling again. I didn't want to ruin that."
"And yet you did."
He stepped forward, eyes pleading. "Then let me fix it."
But she was already walking.
"Seo-ah—"
"Don't," she said, not looking back. "Just... don't."
As she disappeared into the hallway, her voice echoed inside her chest like the final sentence of a chapter she never wanted to write.
For the first time, she wished she had never posted those stories.
Because some truths weren't meant to be read.
And some heartbreaks didn't belong on the page.