January – The Budding Romance*
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Jian sat in the back of the university auditorium, his sketchbook balanced on his lap. Around him, students clapped and cheered as the performers took their final bow. The applause was loud, but Jian barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on one dancer, her figure graceful and strong as she bowed and smiled under the bright stage lights.
Her name was Hana.
She had been the star of the evening, her movements captivating, her energy impossible to ignore. Every leap, every spin, had seemed effortless. To Jian, it was as though the music itself had taken human form in her. He glanced down at his sketchbook, where he had tried to capture her mid-spin. It wasn't quite right—the lines were too stiff, her grace still beyond his reach.
"Wow," Min-seok said, nudging him. "You've been staring at her all night."
Jian flinched, closing his sketchbook quickly. "I wasn't staring."
"Sure, and I'm the next Picasso," Min-seok teased, grinning. "Come on, man. Don't be so shy. Let's go meet her."
"Meet her?" Jian felt his stomach twist. "Why? She doesn't even know me."
"Exactly! That's why we're going to introduce you." Min-seok stood, pulling Jian up by the arm.
"No, no, no," Jian hesitate, trying to stay in his seat. "You go. I'll wait here."
Min-seok groaned dramatically. "You can't live your whole life hiding in the background. New year, new you, remember? Let's go."
Before Jian could argue further, Min-seok was already dragging him down the steps toward the stage. The crowd was starting to thin as students filed out, but a few lingered near the performers, chatting and taking pictures. Jian's heart pounded.
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Backstage was loud and chaotic, filled with dancers still buzzing with excitement. Bright costumes, quick laughter, and the hum of voices surrounded them. Jian clutched his sketchbook tightly, feeling like he'd wandered into a place he didn't belong.
"There she is!" Min-seok said, pointing.
Hana stood near a group of friends, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, strands escaping to frame her face. She looked even more radiant up close, her cheeks still flushed from the performance. Jian wanted to turn around and disappear, but Min-seok waved at her.
"Hana!"
She turned, her dark eyes lighting up. "Min-seok! Hey!"
She walked over, her steps confident and easy, like she was still onstage. Jian tried to shrink behind his friend, but Min-seok pulled him forward.
"This is Jian," Min-seok said, clapping Jian on the shoulder. "My best friend. He's in the art department. And—" Min-seok grinned mischievously—"he couldn't take his eyes off you during the performance."
Jian felt his face go hot. "I—I wasn't—"
Hana laughed, the sound light and warm. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment," she said, her gaze shifting to Jian. "Nice to meet you, Jian."
Jian mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "nice to meet you too." His voice was so quiet, he wasn't sure she even heard it.
"Jian's an artist," Min-seok added, ignoring Jian's glare. "He was sketching you during the show. Wanna see?"
"What? No!" Jian tried to grab his sketchbook, but Min-seok already had it open, flipping to the page. He held it up for Hana to see.
Jian braced himself for laughter or polite dismissal. The sketch wasn't even finished—just a rough outline of her mid-spin, the details vague, the proportions slightly off.
But Hana didn't laugh. She tilted her head, studying the page with genuine interest. "This is amazing," she said softly. "You captured the movement so well. I love it."
Jian blinked. "It's not... it's not done yet," he stutter.
"Well, when it is, I'd love to see it." She smiled, handing the sketchbook back. "You're really talented."
Jian didn't know what to say. No one had ever complimented his work like that before—at least, not in a way that felt so sincere.
"Thanks," he mumbled, looking down at his shoes.
"You're quiet," Hana said, her tone teasing but kind. "Do you talk much, or does Min-seok do all the talking for you?"
"He barely talks at all," Min-seok said, smirking. "But don't let that fool you. He's a good guy. Just takes some time to warm up."
Hana laughed again. "Well, maybe I'll see you around, Jian. If you ever want to sketch me again, let me know."
Before Jian could even process her words,"Hana," someone called her name from across the room. "I've got to go," she said, waving as she walked away. "It was nice meeting you!"
Jian watched her disappear into the crowd, her laughter lingering in the air.
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The walk back to the dorm was cold and quiet, the winter air biting against Jian's face. Min-seok, however, couldn't stop talking.
"See? That wasn't so bad, right? She likes you."
"She was just being nice," Jian said, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck.
"Dude, she complimented your art! Do you know how big that is? She doesn't do that for just anyone."
Jian said nothing, his mind replaying the way Hana had smiled at him. She had seemed so genuine, so effortless. He glanced at his sketchbook, tucked safely under his arm. Maybe he would finish that drawing tomorrow.
"You need more confidence," Min-seok said, shaking his head. "Next time you see her, don't wait for her to make all the moves. Talk to her. Ask her out."
Jian's stomach twisted at the thought. "I don't even know what I'd say."
"Start with 'Hi,'" Min-seok said, rolling his eyes. "The rest will figure itself out."
Jian doubted that, but he didn't argue.
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Later that night, Jian sat at his desk, the sketchbook open in front of him. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater. He stared at the half-finished drawing of Hana, his pencil hovering over the page.
For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to work on it. Every time he tried, he felt like he wasn't doing her justice. The lines felt clumsy, the details wrong.
With a sigh, he set the pencil down and leaned back in his chair. He glanced over at his bag, where his plain black keychain hung from the zipper. It looked so dull, so ordinary. He thought about Hana's keychain—the way it had caught the light during her dance. It had seemed so small, so insignificant, but somehow, it had stood out to him.
Maybe that was how he felt about himself—plain and unremarkable, trying to shine in a world full of people like Hana.
Still, she had noticed him. She had complimented his art.
For the first time in a long while, Jian felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would try again.
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