March arrived with the scent of melting frost and fresh notebooks. The trees near the entrance of Hwarang High were still bare, their branches sketching spindly shadows across the courtyard, but excitement hung in the air like blossom dust. It was the first day of the new academic cycle for many streams — and today, it was finally time for Netra, Kshiti, and Payal to walk through the gates of their dream high school.
The morning in Room 402 began with too many alarms, three near wardrobe disasters, and one overflowing cup of chai. Y/n stood by the window, sipping hers with practiced calm, watching as her friends flurried about.
“Netra, your skirt is on backwards.”
“It’s a fashion statement,” Netra declared, then gasped and ran to the mirror. “Okay, maybe not.”
Payal was trying to tie her hair into a neat braid while holding a sandwich in her mouth.
Kshiti, ever the composed one, already had her uniform ironed and bag packed the night before. She sat cross-legged on the bed, reading over the school schedule like it was an ancient manuscript.
Y/n smiled, her heart full.
They left the dorm a little before eight, walking down the path toward Hwarang High’s front gate. Netra was bouncing with energy. Payal kept humming a Bollywood song. Kshiti was already mentally reciting the order of her classes.
Y/n felt something shift within her. Until now, she had walked this route alone. But today, her footsteps were surrounded by laughter. Her silence was cushioned by belonging.
As they approached the main building, they slowed down. There it stood—Hwarang High School—with its glass windows reflecting the pale morning sky, its white walls glowing like paper awaiting ink.
“Ready?” Y/n asked softly.
“More than ready,” Netra beamed.
They stepped in.
The entrance hallway was a rush of new uniforms, excited chatter, and camera flashes. The walls were pinned with student club flyers, a few welcoming banners in both Hangul and English, and signs directing students to their classrooms.
At the admin office, a friendly staff member handed Netra, Kshiti, and Payal their timetables and locker keys. Y/n waited patiently, beaming as they squealed over their class names.
“All three of us are in different electives,” Payal said. “But our core Korean and math classes overlap.”
“And we all get lunch at the same time!” Netra cheered. “That’s all that matters.”
Y/n led them down the corridors she’d already memorized. She pointed out the best vending machines, the quietest stairwell, and the rooftop garden where some seniors studied between classes.
“You sound like a senior already,” Payal teased.
“Only one month older,” Y/n replied with a grin.
The first period bell rang, and the girls parted ways at the central corridor.
“Meet you at lunch!”
“Don’t forget the group chat updates!”
“Good luck!”
Y/n made her way to Class 2-B, her familiar space. The room already held a rhythm she knew—the buzz of fluorescent lights, the chatter before the bell, the creak of old desks. And of course, one seat from the window in the back row, Kim Taehyung sat, earphones in, pencil twirling in his fingers.
They’d been quiet partners in Korean Core class since the beginning. Their conversations had always been brief—comments on assignments, a shared glance during roll call, passing notes that were half sketches, half translations. But somehow, those quiet moments had begun to shape something more.
She slid into her seat beside him. Taehyung removed one earbud.
“Morning,” he said softly.
“Morning,” she replied, and smiled.
The day passed in fluttering papers and introductions. Netra quickly became the favorite in her design class for her bold, vibrant color choices. Kshiti impressed the psychology elective instructor with a thoughtful answer in perfect Korean. Payal joined the music club by lunchtime and was already on the shortlist for the upcoming school fest.
During lunch, they reunited on the back lawn, bento boxes open, sharing pickles and stories.
“I LOVE it here,” Payal declared between bites. “Everyone is so chill.”
“I think my design teacher hates me,” Netra frowned. “She said my drawing looked like a donut when it was supposed to be a lampshade.”
“It did look like a donut,” Kshiti said gently.
Y/n giggled, peeling an orange for them all. "You’ll grow into your lampshades."
That evening in Room 402 was filled with study notes, Korean verb conjugation charts, and practice sketching for architecture assignments. Y/n sat by the window, sketchpad open, while Netra and Payal bickered about playlist control.
“Taehyung helped me with shading today,” Y/n said casually.
All heads turned.
“He didn’t say much,” she added quickly. “Just took my sketch, flipped it, and showed me the light source. It… helped.”
“And let me guess,” Payal smirked. “He then disappeared like a poetic ghost?”
“More like... walked out humming Chopin,” Y/n replied, laughing.
They all stared.
“You’re in deep,” Netra said.
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
The library was almost empty later that night. Y/n walked in with a purpose — needing a book on symmetry in architectural design. But her feet, like always, led her near the architecture section.
And there he was.
Taehyung.
Same corner. Same sketchbook. Same quiet intensity.
“You’re late,” he murmured without looking up.
“How’d you know I was coming?”
He looked up then, the faintest smile playing on his lips.
“You always come when the moon is out.”
She sat down across from him.
They studied in silence for a while. Then Taehyung pushed a folded paper across the table. It was a sketch. A rooftop garden overlooking Seoul’s skyline, with a treehouse-style pavilion in the center.
“It’s based on your critique. You said open spaces felt safer when layered.”
Y/n looked at it, stunned.
“You actually remembered?”
“Only interesting things,” he said.
Her heart fluttered.
Back in Room 402, the lights were dimmed, the playlist turned to soft Korean jazz.
Y/n lay on her bunk, fingers curled around the folded sketch Taehyung had given her. In the dark, Netra whispered:
“Good day?”
“The best,” Y/n whispered back.
Her cheeks still tingled with the softness of his words.
And as sleep took her, Y/n knew this was only the beginning.
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