The university campus was unusually quiet that morning. Clouds hung low like they were too tired to float, and the air smelled faintly of wet stone and ink.
Kaya walked slowly down the narrow path behind the psychology building, where ivy curled over the old brick walls. A soft drizzle had started again, but she didn't pull up her hood. She liked the rain. It made everything quieter. Softer.
She had a small sketchbook tucked under her arm.
This was her routine.
Early morning walk.
Five minutes of stillness before the noise of lectures and expectations returned.
As she rounded the corner near the old amphitheater, she heard it again—**music**.
Faint, but unmistakable. A piano.
It wasn't polished or rehearsed. It was like someone was thinking through their fingertips, letting thoughts fall onto keys before they could turn into words.
She followed the sound.
There, beneath the overhang of a side building, someone had left a door slightly open. She paused at the threshold. Her heart fluttered as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
At the far end of the room, half-lit by the morning gray, sat **Moon Seo-jun**.
Same dark brown hair. Same oversized hoodie. He was hunched slightly, brows furrowed, playing with one hand while scribbling something in a notebook beside him.
Kaya didn't move. She barely breathed.
She wasn't spying—not exactly. But something in that moment made her feel like she was watching something secret. Not forbidden… just fragile. Like a bird that would fly off if you stepped too close.
The melody faltered. Moon exhaled sharply and closed the lid of the piano. He stood, turned—
And saw her.
For a moment, neither moved.
Kaya's eyes widened. Her grip tightened around her sketchbook.
Moon blinked. "...Did I disturb you?"
His voice was low. Calm. Not cold.
Kaya shook her head. "No. I just… heard music."
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, he gave a small nod. "The acoustics are better here in the mornings."
Kaya swallowed. "You compose your own music?"
He glanced toward the piano. "Sometimes. Depends on the day."
He started to step past her, then paused again. "Are you the one who left that drawing on the bench?"
Kaya's breath caught.
"…Maybe."
He gave the faintest smile. It wasn't teasing. Just quiet. Grateful.
"It was good," he said, and walked past her, leaving a soft echo of rain and piano in his wake.
Later that evening, Kaya sat at her desk as Ji-eun chatted loudly across the room, recounting her day to someone over a call. Kaya wasn't really listening—until a familiar name floated in the air.
"—he said he might write something for me! A melody! Can you imagine? I told him to use a spring theme, something light and pretty…"
Kaya closed her sketchbook.
She didn't ask who "he" was.
She didn't need to.
To be continued.....