The campus cafeteria was alive with chatter. Trays clattered, chairs scraped against the floor, and laughter echoed from one end to the other. Kaya sat at a corner table, sketchbook open beside her untouched meal. Her pencil moved slowly, shading the outline of an umbrella—the way rain pooled around its edges.
"Kaya! There you are."
Ji-eun appeared with her usual energy, sliding into the seat across from her without asking. Min-jae followed close behind, balancing two drinks, setting one down in front of her. His smile was easy, practiced, the same smile Kaya had once thought was just for her.
Her hand stilled on the page.
"You won't believe it," Ji-eun said, looping her arm through Min-jae's. "He wrote me a melody last night. Just a small piece, but it's beautiful. Want to hear?"
Kaya forced her lips into a faint curve. "I'm sure it is."
Ji-eun didn't notice the stiffness in her tone. She pressed play on her phone and set it on the table. A soft piano tune filled the air—light, cheerful, almost childlike in its simplicity. Kaya lowered her gaze, tracing the rim of her tray with her finger.
It wasn't bad. But it wasn't the music she remembered from that rainy morning.
Moon's music had been heavier, slower. Like it carried the weight of something unspoken. Something that lingered after the last note.
This? This was surface-level. Pretty, but hollow.
Her chest tightened. Not from jealousy—at least, that's what she told herself—but from the sharp realization: she had mistaken Min-jae's attention long ago for something deeper than it had ever been.
And maybe… maybe that wasn't her loss after all.
Later that afternoon, Kaya sat beneath the old tree near the psychology building, her sketchbook balanced on her lap. She had meant to review her notes, but her hand moved on its own, pencil carving lines of a piano again.
She paused when a shadow fell across her page.
Moon Seo-jun stood there, holding a paper cup of coffee, condensation curling against the warm lid. He nodded toward the empty spot on the bench. "Anyone sitting here?"
Kaya shook her head. "No."
He sat, not too close, not too far. For a while, neither spoke. The sound of leaves shifting in the wind filled the silence.
Finally, he glanced at her sketchbook. "You draw a lot."
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the page. "It helps me think."
"Do you only draw people?" His tone was quiet, curious, not invasive.
"Not really," Kaya said. "But sometimes… faces stay with me. Even if I don't know why."
Moon's eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than usual. Then he looked away, sipping his coffee. "Faces are easier than feelings."
The words stayed with her long after he left.
That evening, back in her dorm, Ji-eun once again launched into a story about Min-jae, about their plans for the weekend, about how much attention he gave her.
Kaya only half-listened.
Because somewhere else on campus, she imagined another boy at a piano, letting unspoken feelings turn into music.
And for the first time in years, Kaya wondered if her story was only just beginning.
To be continued....