The classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and lemon cleaner — the kind that tried hard to erase yesterday's lessons. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering at the corners, as rows of desks waited for another year's stories to unfold.
It was the first day of spring semester at Hwarang International High School in Seoul — the kind of morning that felt like a clean page.
Y/n stood at the threshold of Classroom 2-B, fingers clutching the strap of her tan canvas backpack, heart thudding somewhere between her ribs and her throat. Her navy uniform felt stiff, the blazer's buttons not yet familiar to her fingers. Inside, voices overlapped in a soft mix of Korean, English, and occasional Mandarin.
It wasn't the language that made her nervous. It was the weight of walking into a room where every pair of eyes might notice the new girl.
Her mother's voice echoed gently in her ears:
"Bas apni tarah rehna, beta. Pyar se. Awaaz uthane ki zarurat nahi hoti dikhne ke liye."
(Just be yourself, beta. With love. You don't need to raise your voice to be seen.)
One breath. Another.
She stepped in.
The classroom didn't fall silent — a relief. A few heads turned; curious glances lingered, then slipped back into conversation. The teacher hadn't arrived yet.
"Is she Indian?" someone whispered.
"She's the new exchange student, right?"
Y/n kept walking, eyes skimming the rows for an empty seat.
And then—
From the last bench, beside the sunlit window, he looked up.
Not in surprise. Not in curiosity.
But as if he'd been expecting her.
Kim Taehyung sat with an open sketchbook, pencil resting lightly in his hand. His hair swept untidily across his forehead, catching the pale morning light. His eyes — deep, still, unreadable — met hers for a single, lingering moment.
Y/n quickly looked away, pulse quickening.
She found an empty desk in the first row, tucked into a safe corner. She opened her notebook, wrote the date with careful strokes, and, despite herself, let her eyes wander back.
He wasn't looking anymore.
The teacher arrived five minutes later — a slim woman in her thirties with kind eyes and a firm, even voice. After welcoming the class back, she smiled toward the first row.
"We have a new student joining us this term. Y/n-ssi, would you like to introduce yourself?"
Y/n rose slowly, every movement feeling louder than her voice.
"Hello. I'm Y/n. I'm from Jaipur, Rajasthan — the Pink City of India. I love literature, art, and long walks with music. I hope we can be friends."
A polite wave of claps followed. One girl with round glasses in the third row gave an enthusiastic wave, pulling a small, genuine smile from Y/n.
She sat down—
And froze.
A tiny paper crane rested near the edge of her desk.
She looked around. No one seemed to notice.
Except him.
Taehyung.
No wink, no grand smile — just the faintest lift at the corner of his lips.
The day unfolded quietly. Math blurred into symbols. Korean history told of dynasties and revolutions. Lunch was in a quiet courtyard corner with neatly packed roti-sabzi from her host family's kitchen.
In art class, the teacher asked them to sketch something that felt like home.
Y/n hesitated before letting her pencil move:
The cool shade of her family's old courtyard. A brass diya on the steps. The edge of her dadi's dupatta in the breeze. A peacock at the gate, its colors only hinted at in shading.
When the teacher saw it, she paused.
"This... is beautifully nostalgic. You've drawn feeling, not just memory."
Y/n smiled faintly.
From the corner of her eye, she caught Taehyung glancing at her paper. He said nothing. But later, when he handed in his own sketch — it was of a temple bell in silhouette, backlit by a fading sun.
It was almost the same as hers.
Coincidence...
or something more?
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