Jisung

A warm autumn day at the campus courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the brick walls as a light breeze rustled the remaining foliage, sending scattered clouds drifting across the sky.

Under a long, transparent awning in the back garden stood neat rows of lunch tables. Minho sat at one of them, his back to the bustling walkway. His chin rested in his palm, completely absorbed in the novel on his smartphone. The gripping plot erased the surrounding world, leaving only the steady scroll of digital pages. The occasional breeze tousled his black hair, while the distant voices of other students floated somewhere far in the background.

The comfort shattered instantly. A sharp, stinging cold crashed over the back of his head, cascading down his neck. Minho jerked violently, his fingers slackening – the phone thudded dully onto the table. Ice-cold water flooded his temples, instantly soaking dark patches into his clothes. A severe shiver ran down his spine, and the wind, warm just moments ago, now blew a prickly chill against his wet skin. He sat motionless, listening to the heavy drops falling from his hair onto the plastic surface of the table.

His mind desperately tried to process the sudden shift: warmth to cold, dry fabric to soaking wet clothes, and the sudden buzzing in his ears. Only then, through the shock, did the presence of another person register. Right behind him.

Minho slowly turned around.

Behind his chair, holding an empty plastic cup, stood Jisung. A calm, even expression played on his face, entirely devoid of any hint of gloating or regret. He wasn't laughing. He simply looked at Minho as if observing an interesting but completely mundane phenomenon – like melting ice or a falling leaf. His gaze held nothing but a cool, detached curiosity.

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