SANA
I don't remember how I got through the interview or how the exhibition ended. Ji-Hoon's hand – larger, warmer and steadier than I imagined – is wrapped around mine, guiding me through the quiet streets as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of us.
In-a helped wrap things up, thank goodness, though I know she'll demand an explanation later. Her smirk when she saw him earlier was loud enough to drawn the gallery chatter.
Ji-Hoon.
To all the places and scenarios I imagined where we might meet again, tonight – at my exhibition – in front of that painting of all places – wasn't even on the list.
He insisted we talk. Honestly, I couldn't refuse. I didn't want to.
It's 9 p.m., and though most shops are shutting their doors, the café he leads me to is still alive with a few lingering patrons. He picks a quiet corner booth, and I sink into the seat across from him, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug the waiter places in front of me.
The warmth calms my nerves, but Ji-Hoon's gaze – steady, unwavering – don't.
When I thought this night might dissolve into an endless silence between us, he finally speaks.
"I think," he says, sitting up straighter, "before anything else, we should introduce ourselves. Properly, this time." He takes a deep breath, his expression so earnest it pulls a smile from me. "My name is Park Ji-Hoon. I'm 22, a third-year architecture student at Hanseo University."
I sit up, mirroring his posture like it's an interview. "My name is Yoon Sana. I'm 20, a second-year fine arts student at…Hanseo University."
When he confirms that we've really been at the same university all this time, he runs a hand through his hair, his expression bitter. "You've been so close this whole time."
The irony isn't lost on me either.
"I went back to the park," I blurt out before I can stop myself. My voice is sharper than I intended, and I immediately regret the accusatory edge. "Twice. But you weren't there. And it hurt more than I wished it would. I thought I was the only who felt what I felt – that I imagined everything, the only one who-"
"You weren't," he says, cutting me off. His voice soft but urgent, as though the words can't wait another second. "You weren't the only one who felt something. I did too. And…it scared me."
He pauses, his eyes dropping to the table for a moment before meeting mine again. "I thought I was overreacting. That if I gave it some time, you'd fade from my head – my heart. But you didn't. and by the time I sorted myself out and went back to the park…you weren't there."
The guilt in his voice is tangible, and when he adds, "I'm sorry I was late," my chest tightens.
I swallow the lump in my throat and force the tears pricking my eyes to stay put. My voice barely rises above a whisper as I say, "I don't want you to disappear on me again. You're right, it's scary, but I…I don't want you gone again."
"I won't," he says, his tone steady and sure. He places his hand on the table, palm up. "Whatever this is – whatever it's growing into – let's figure it out. Together."
I hesitate only for a moment before placing my hand in his. The warmth of his touch steadies something deep inside me.
"Together," I say, my voice firmer this time.
We sit there for a moment, letting the weight of the words settle between us. Then he pulls out his phone and slides it across the table. "Your number?"
I smile a little, taking his phone and passing him mine so we can exchange contacts.
…
By the time we leave the café, it's a bit over 10 p.m. The streets are quieter now, and the city's hum feels more intimate. We're still holding hands, and though the gesture is small, it feels monumental.
"So, you didn't know it was my exhibition tonight?" I ask, glancing up at him.
He shakes his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "No, I didn't. Min-Seok – the weird guy from earlier – he's the one who insisted I come. I had no idea 'My Inner Light' was you until I saw that painting."
His voice softens as he adds, "when I recognised it, my heart was racing so hard I thought it might burst."
I tighten my grip on his hand, my own heart doing a familiar flip. "I wanted to paint how I felt that day. All of it."
He stops walking, turning to face me fully. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world falls away.
"Let's go on a date. A proper one. What do you think?"
The boyish grin on his face is infectious, and I find myself mirroring it as I answer, "I think that would be great."
"Tomorrow?" he asks, his voice hopeful.
I nod. Whatever plans I might have had can wait.
When we reach the bus stop, the reluctance to part weighs heavy in my heart. As if reading my thoughts, he says, "I don't want you to go. But since we'll see each other tomorrow, I'll let you go – for now."
His eyes hold mine as he speaks, and I wonder if he realises how much he says with just a look.
The bus arrives – on time for once, and I almost resent it for that. As it pulls away, I wave at him through the window, my heart lighter than it's been in years.
Sometimes, life surprises you in the sweetest, most unexpected ways.