Ji Ah

The library is almost empty at ten o'clock at night. Only the distant murmur of the wind against the windows and the soft sound of pages being turned remain. Ji-ah sits in her usual corner, surrounded by piles of open books, precise notes in her notebook, and headphones that block out any noise. Her dark eyes scan a dense paragraph by Dostoevsky with concentration, her fingers taking notes with meticulous calm. There is no room for distractions or conversations. Time seems to stand still in this small refuge of silence.

Suddenly, the door creaks softly, and a figure enters. Yeon-seo, with her multicolored scarf, tousled hair, and bright smile, pauses for a moment when she sees her. Ji-ah, for her part, doesn't look up; it's as if she hadn't seen her. But Yeon-seo doesn't flinch. She walks over to the table and, without asking, sits down next to her. She takes a cup of hot coffee from a thermos, which exhales steam into the cold library air.

"I didn't expect to see you here at this hour," Yeon-seo says softly, but with a tone so natural it's almost like singing. "Exam week drives everyone crazy."

Ji-ah blinks, slight surprise in her eyes, but doesn't respond. She returns to her notes, trying to ignore this unexpected presence. Yeon-seo doesn't move, just watches, then slides a small piece of paper next to the books.

"Jasmine tea. For when you need a break," she whispers.

Minutes pass. Ji-ah feels the warmth of the cup beside her, the sweet scent filling her nose. Unintentionally, she looks away from her text and at Yeon-seo. For a moment, her icy gaze softens. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't move away. Yeon-seo smiles, satisfied. No words are needed to share that moment.

The clock strikes ten thirty. Two opposing worlds coexist in silence. Ji-ah doesn't change, she remains focused, but now she knows she's not alone. Yeon-seo, unhurried, takes out a notebook full of drawings and begins to scribble.

Yeon-seo, 23, a performing arts student at the same university, is the perfect foil for Ji-ah: luminous, expressive, and enveloping. Her voice echoes like music in the hallways, always with a hint of laughter or defiance. She has tousled brown curls that fall in disarray around her face, and a big, genuine smile that knows no bounds or awkward silences. Her golden skin, almond-shaped eyes, and freckles across her nose always make her look like she's just stepped out of the sun. She dresses eccentrically and colorfully, with scarves of every shade, rings on each finger, old boots decorated with paint, and T-shirts of bands no one knows. She lives in a shared house with three friends, two cats, and lots of plants. The chaos makes her feel alive.

Yeon-seo speaks without a filter, laughs loudly, touches the arm of anyone near her, and sits on the floor as if it were her natural throne. She loves hugs, parties until dawn, coffee with lots of milk, and sad movies that make her cry. She documents her entire life on social media, where she shares drawings, quotes from her notebooks, and videos of herself singing in the shower. She's intrigued by the hidden secrets of distant people, and that's why Ji-ah obsesses her from the very beginning. "You have a frozen soul, but I have time," she says, smiling, without waiting for a reply.

Their relationship begins with inevitable clashes: Ji-ah detests her constant invasion, her noisy energy, and her need for closeness. But Yeon-seo persists with irreverent patience. She follows her to the library, silently leaves cups of tea for her, and speaks to her even when she receives no response. She doesn't seek to break her up, only to accompany her. Little by little, Ji-ah stops leaving when Yeon-seo arrives. She doesn't change, but she remains. And that, for Yeon-seo, is love. A love without conditions, that doesn't demand, only waits.