Chapter 4 – Tomi's POV
The bump happened yesterday.
Yesterday.
And yet—this morning, the only thing on my mind wasn't my 10 a.m. class, or the fact that I still didn't know how to load the laundry machine in the dorm basement.
It was him.
Ugh.
Why was my brain like this?
I sat at the campus café with Yuri and Nia, poking at a bagel that was definitely not a bagel. It was sweet. Why was it sweet?
"You've been staring at that thing like it insulted your ancestors," Yuri said, sipping her banana milk like life was normal.
"It's sweet," I muttered. "I wasn't prepared."
Nia raised a brow. "Still thinking about the Min-Jae thing?"
I didn't answer.
Yuri clapped her hands once. "Guys. The video has over 18,000 views. Eighteen. Thousand."
I groaned into my palm. "Please don't remind me."
She kept going. "There are slow-mo edits now. Like actual dramatic K-drama background music and heart-shaped lens flares—"
"YURI."
"Okay, okay." She held up her hands. "I'm just saying, girl. You made eye contact with Min-Jae. You spoke. He spoke back. That's basically marriage in K-drama math."
I didn't want to admit it out loud, but yeah. I'd replayed the moment once or twice in my head.
Fine. Four times.
Okay, maybe more.
It wasn't just that he was famous. Or hot. Or had the kind of face that made you believe in skincare miracles.
It was the way he looked at me. Like I wasn't just another person in the crowd.
Like he'd seen me before.
But that was ridiculous.
Maybe I was just projecting. I hadn't exactly been sleeping well. Between adjusting to Korea, my messed-up body clock, and random bursts of homesickness for jollof rice and loud aunties, I'd been feeling a little… unanchored.
I missed my mom.
I missed Ibadan traffic, even though I used to complain about it.
I missed knowing where I fit.
Here, I was just floating. Watching life happen from the outside.
"Anyway," I said, finally snapping out of it. "Back to real life. We have an exam next week. I have two assignments due. And I still haven't found that cultural anthropology class that's apparently in a building with no sign."
Nia reached over and squeezed my hand once. "We'll find it. And maybe we'll bump into another celebrity while we're at it."
I rolled my eyes, but smiled.
Later that evening, I was back in the dorm, alone in the small study lounge downstairs. I was trying to focus on an article about globalization and youth identity, but I kept getting distracted.
I pulled out my earbuds, let them dangle.
The memory popped back again. That stupid bump. That blink. That split second where our eyes locked and I forgot how English worked.
The next day, something weirder happened.
I was walking to the international office to get a form signed, phone in one hand, trying to listen to a podcast and not fall into a pothole. I took the back path behind the library to avoid the lunch rush.
And that's when I saw it.
A black van. Parked. Engine idling.
And him.
Standing beside it. In sunglasses and a hat, dressed in gorgeous black suit and overcoat this time. Talking on the phone. Alone.
I froze.
He didn't see me.
Or maybe he did.
Because two seconds later, he looked up—right at me.
Not surprised. Not startled.
Like he was expecting me.
Min-Jae's POV
The Glitch in the Matrix, Again.
I wasn't supposed to be there.
At least, not at that exact moment.
Tae-ho had the schedule mixed up. Again. He was supposed to pick me up at 12:30 for a last-minute meeting with the brand director of some overpriced skincare line, but somehow, the guy decided to swing by thirty minutes early, dragging me out of my apartment like I didn't need time to be a functioning person first.
"Hyung, I'm still in sweats," I said, sliding into the backseat, hair barely brushed, voice hoarse from not speaking all morning.
"You're wearing a suit," he pointed out, like that solved anything. "That's all they'll care about."
"I'm not even awake yet.
"Drink your coffee."
I did. It was bitter and cold.
And now, here I was — parked behind a university library because apparently that was the closest discreet entrance to the faculty lounge where I was meeting some old professor to talk about "inspiring the next generation."
Whatever that meant.
I stood outside the van for air, phone in one hand, scrolling through emails with my thumb. I wasn't expecting anything today. No crazy fans. No chaos. Just boring adult obligations that would be over in two hours.
Then I saw her.
Again.
Same hoodie. Same unsure steps, like she was trying to figure out where she was going but also pretending like she had it all together.
She was walking, head down, earbuds dangling, holding her phone like she was checking directions or maybe changing the song. Nothing dramatic. Just… ordinary.
Until she looked up.
And our eyes met.
She froze.
I didn't.
I wasn't surprised this time. Not really. The first bump was weird. The second was weirder. This? This just felt like… routine.
It was her. Again.
For the third time.
Different campus corner, same timing. Same accidental crossing of paths. Same feeling in my chest like something was glitching just slightly out of sync.
She didn't say anything. Neither did I.
Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know what to say.
What did you say to a stranger you kept meeting by accident?
I kept my face neutral. My body calm. Like this wasn't anything. Like I wasn't literally wondering what strange cosmic joke was pulling our strings together like some lazy screenwriter on a deadline.
Tae-ho's voice cut in from the van window, shattering the moment.
"Five minutes," he called.
She looked away first.
I slid my phone into my coat pocket and turned to go.
But inside, my head was buzzing.
Later that night, I sat on my couch in my living room, TV on mute, laptop open, and a bowl of rice I didn't touch.
That girl was in my head again. I already met her three times.
That has never happened.
Sure, I met fans. Bumped into strangers. Smiled at kids who asked for selfies in train stations.
But this wasn't that.
She didn't act like a fan. Not at the audition hall. Not at the festival. Not today.
She wasn't even trying to be seen.
And yet, she kept showing up in the exact kind of moments that didn't feel scripted. Not staged. Just… life.
What were the odds?
I clicked through tabs on my browser without really seeing anything.
I kept thinking about how her eyes widened when she saw me — not in the excited way. Not in the "oh-my-god-it's-him" way. It was more like… confusion. Like she was asking the same question I was: why now?
I leaned back, rubbed my eyes, and finally texted Tae-ho.
You ever meet someone three times by accident and it starts to feel like it's on purpose?
The bubbles appeared. Then disappeared.
Then came back.
Is this about the girl from the bump video?
I stared at the screen.
Maybe.
You know this is how K-dramas start, right?
I tossed the phone onto the couch.
The next day, I made Tae-ho take a different route to the meeting.
I told him the main gate was too crowded, even though it wasn't.
I wasn't stalking. I wasn't looking for her.
That's what I told myself.
But some part of me… maybe hoped.
I wasn't sure why.
Maybe because I was tired of the perfect days. The ones where everyone knew their lines and hit their marks. The days with makeup artists and press managers and fake smiles.
This was something else. Messy. Human. Coincidental.
I didn't even know her name.
But I remembered her hoodie.
And the way she said "I'm good" like she'd never been more not good in her life.
I laughed to myself.
Later, after the meeting, back in the van, I stared out the window as students walked around campus.
Tae-ho talked about next week's schedule. Something about Japan. Something about a new brand photoshoot.
I nodded, not really listening.
Because in my head, I kept playing it back again.
The bump.
The lemonade.
The black hoodie.
And those brown eyes and long thick wavy braids.
Something about her felt off-beat. Out of rhythm with everything else in my life.
And I didn't hate it.
Not one bit.
TOMI'S POV
The look he gave me haunted me all the way to the international office and back.
I didn't sign the form. I think I left it on someone's desk, maybe even the wrong one. My brain was static. Full static. My body autopiloted back to the dorm like I was being remote-controlled.
Because that look—it wasn't just curiosity. It wasn't fan recognition, either. That, I would understand. That, I would expect. I'd prepared for that look a thousand times in my head when I used to rewatch clips from Blue April. I used to imagine bumping into Min-Jae and him going, "Aren't you the girl who wrote me a fan letter with two pages of questions about my character's childhood trauma arc?" I'd laugh, we'd laugh, and then I'd wake up.
But this look? It was something else.
It felt like a memory. Like we had met before, but he was trying to place when and where, and he couldn't. Or maybe I was the one trying to place it.
I locked myself in my room and lay on the tiny twin bed that barely qualified as sleepable. I stared at the ceiling tiles, trying to convince myself I was overreacting.
Except I wasn't. And I knew I wasn't.
Something weird was happening.
Maybe not ghosts in the hallway weird. But definitely this-isn't-a-normal-life weird.
I opened my phone.
Two new messages from Yuri.
Okay. Reset. I wasn't going to let one celebrity gaze make me spiral. Not again.
Instead, I turned to my laptop, hoping to catch up on the cultural anthropology lecture I'd skipped the week before.
The professor's voice was droning in the background, but my eyes kept drifting to my reflection in the screen. I looked tired. Not just physically, but existentially.
I missed how things made sense back home. I missed understanding every poster on the street. I missed knowing how to flirt with the plantain seller so she'd sneak in an extra piece. I missed not having to decode every facial expression, every tone.
Here, I was trying. I was really trying.
But everything felt uphill.
Except when I saw him.
That was the real problem.
Because when I saw Min-Jae—the Min-Jae I used to fan over in group chats with other Nigerian girls who watched pirated K-dramas on weekends—I didn't feel lost.
I felt anchored. Even if only for a moment.
Which was very not normal.
Or healthy.
Or productive.
So naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do.
I googled him.
Again.
Even though I already knew everything there was to know. Height. Birthday. Blood type. Favorite ramen brand (allegedly).
Still, I searched.
"Min-Jae, celebrity university lecture Seoul 2025."
Sure enough, articles were starting to circulate.
Global star Min-Jae surprises university students with campus appearance.
A source close to the actor says he may be guest lecturing for a limited series of sessions.
Min-Jae seen outside faculty lounge in black coat, looking "mysteriously introspective" (Dispatch).
I groaned. Loudly.
Because the moment I saw the third article, I realized what was happening.
He wasn't done showing up.
This was going to happen again.
And again.
And I had to figure out what to do about it.
A few days later, I walked to class with Yuri, hoping the Min-Jae dust had finally settled.
Spoiler alert: it had not.
A giant banner flapped over the Arts Building.
"LECTURE SERIES: Storytelling & Cultural Memory with Special Guest Speakers."
And on the list of names, in the smallest, most infuriatingly humble font:
Seo Min-Jae
Yuri gasped. "OH. MY. DAYS."
"I refuse to participate in this narrative," I said flatly.
"I need to audit this class," Yuri whispered. "Even if I have to climb in through a vent."
I turned to leave, but not before Nia appeared like a well-dressed ghost with her phone out. "So, the TikTok edits are now at 43k views. You should probably go private before someone finds your high school debate video."
"I hate everyone," I muttered.
They both smiled at me like I was their uncooperative but lovable main character.
I didn't go to the lecture.
I went to the library.
But not the main one—I found a smaller study annex near the engineering building where no one would look for me.
I spent three hours trying to read a paper on ethnographic method and drinking cold barley tea from a vending machine.
It didn't work. Nothing went in.
I kept seeing his face.
Not his drama face. Not his red carpet face. The face he made when he saw me.
Like something in the air shifted. Like I wasn't just there, but important.
I closed my laptop and pulled my hoodie tighter around me.
What was I doing here?
I wasn't the girl people fell in love with at first sight. I wasn't the girl guys remembered after two seconds of eye contact. I wasn't even the girl who said clever things at the right moment.
I was the girl who panicked and ran into poles while trying to avoid awkward conversations.
The girl who still couldn't pronounce her roommate's name right.
The girl who missed her mom and would pay real money for amala right now.
And yet.
That girl had apparently made an impression on Min-Jae.
Was it possible I was misreading everything?
Maybe he was just good at fan service. Maybe he made everyone feel like they were the center of the universe. That would explain his popularity.
I packed my things, trying to squash the feelings back into the small mental box labeled "Delusions."
That night, I FaceTimed my mom.
The call was grainy. Her connection was trash, as usual. But I saw her face. The tired eyes. The background noise of Nollywood playing on the living room TV. I asked her how Ayinke was fairing. "your sister is fine, you know.. boarding school for Ss3"
"You look thin," she said after
"I'm not. I just have terrible lighting."
She clicked her tongue. "Eat something. You need meat on your bones. What do they feed you over there?"
"Strawberry bagels."
She paused. "Strawberry what?"
"Exactly."
We laughed.
I almost told her everything. The bump. The video. The fact that my teenage fangirl fantasy had manifested in the real world and now I was spiraling.
But I didn't.
She had enough to worry about.
Instead, I told her I missed her cooking. And that I was trying. And that I was okay.
The next morning, I had class at 9, but I left early and walked the long way around campus.
I passed the spot where the black van had been. Empty.
I passed the café where I'd first sat with Yuri and Nia.
Too crowded.
I ended up on the rooftop of the Humanities building. There was a little garden space with old benches and potted plants students had probably forgotten.
The wind was sharp, but the view was calming.
For ten full minutes, I just stood there, letting the air wrap around me, trying to figure out what I wanted.
And what I was afraid of.
Maybe it wasn't about him.
Maybe this was about me.
About proving I could survive here. Thrive here. Figure things out. Be something more than just a girl who bumped into a celebrity and went viral.
I sat down on the bench and pulled out my journal. I hadn't written in weeks.
But the words came. Not a poem or fanfiction. It was just my thoughts.
Because maybe that was what this all was. Illusions, not fate or fantasy.
Just possibility.
And that wasn't such a bad thing after all.
By the end of the week, the school announced a Q&A panel with the guest lecturers.
It would be open to all departments. Free seating. No registration required.
My heart dropped.
Yuri immediately signed us up for a front-row strategy.
Nia bought matching snacks.
I said I wouldn't go.
But I knew I was lying.
Because no matter how hard I tried to stay out of it—this strange little story was pulling me in.
And deep down?
I wanted to see what happened next.