The rooftop is crowded today. Students lean on the rail, eat, scroll. Ji-ah sits at the far edge, knees pulled tight, rice box open on her lap. Wind lifts the hem of her skirt. She keeps her head down.
Whispers slide past like insects.
"Isn't that Ji-ah?" "She looks awful." "Like she didn't even try."
She stabs at the rice until it tastes like nothing. Laughter presses against her chest like a hand.
Then the voice she knows cuts through the noise.
"Still pretending you don't hear?"
Yoon-hee stands there, pink hair flashing in the sun, a tight ring of girls around her. Phones are up; cameras tilt toward Ji-ah. Their laughter feeds on Yoon-hee's words.
Ji-ah doesn't look up. "Go away," she says, thin.
"Aw, she talks back." Yoon-hee tilts her head, that small, practiced smile on her face. The girls giggle; one leans forward, thumb already pinching the screen to zoom. A whisper slips out — cheap, freak — and the group edges closer. The words land, then slide off her; she's heard them so many times that they have no bite left.
Still, her fingers tighten until the chopsticks strain in her grip, plastic bending under the pressure.
"You think you're innocent?" Yoon-hee says, low enough that it feels meant only for Ji-ah. "People see things. People take what they want. Then they cry."
Phones edge nearer. No one moves to stop it.
"I didn't—" Ji-ah's voice breaks. She swallows. "I didn't do anything."
"Then why does it look like you did?" Yoon-hee's tone is light. Her eyes are flat. "Pictures don't lie."
A boy glances over, then looks away. The rooftop tilts. The chopsticks snap in Ji-ah's hands—sharp, tiny. "Stop it," she says, louder than she intends. Her chest shakes. "You're lying. You've always been lying."
For a breath the world holds. Yoon-hee stares, unreadable. Then the slow smile comes back — small, certain. It's the look of someone who's just proved a point.
"No," she says, almost gentle. "I'm just showing everyone who you are."
They laugh and nudge phones closer. Ji-ah can feel the heat of a hundred little screens turning her into an image. Her knees go cold.
"Say you're sorry," Yoon-hee says, quietly, nearly intimate. "Say you're sorry for not choosing me. Maybe then I'll stop."
Ji-ah's pulse is loud in her ears. Her nails dig into her palms. "I'm not apologizing," she whispers, to herself as much as to Yoon-hee. "I didn't do anything wrong."
For a flicker, her smile falters — a shadow crossing her face before it smooths clean again. She turns, flicks her hair, and the girls trail after her like smoke.
Their laughter follows. Phones click, screens light up, the rooftop hums again. For everyone else, it's over. For Ji-ah, the air is sharp and tight. The rice is cold in her lap. Her hands won't stop shaking.
She folds inward, knees pulled to her chest. A sound slips out, barely more than breath:
"Control freak."
The word is gone before she realizes.
But Yoon-hee hears. Her head snaps, eyes narrowing. She moves fast—too fast. The slap lands with a clean, hot crack that echoes across the rooftop. Ji-ah's head whips sideways; copper floods her mouth, her cheek on fire.
A hush falls over the rooftop. For a moment, nothing moves. Then the whispers creep in—shocked, eager, already twisting what just happened into something else.
Yoon-hee stands over Ji-ah, steady, fury curled tight beneath her calm.
The voices blur. Ji-ah can't catch a word. Her ears ring; everything is muffled, distant, like she's not even in her own body anymore.
"Don't talk about me," Yoon-hee says, soft but sharp, the kind of voice that makes people believe before they even know why. She turns, slow and deliberate, and the three girls slip after her, giggling under their breath.
The phone stays up, the clip lingering long after the sting fades.
Ji-ah presses her hand to her cheek, warm and faintly scented with perfume. Tears prick, sharp and sudden, but she doesn't wipe them. Around her, the rooftop hums again, ordinary and distant. Yet the air feels thinner, sharper—closer.
Every camera lens pointed at her is a quiet reminder that this moment isn't hers to forget.