The lunch bell rang like a mercy.
Students surged from the classroom, some racing toward the cafeteria, others lounging in groups on the hallway floor. Ji-Ho lingered behind, pretending to dig through his bag while sneaking another glance at Thanu.
She was arranging her notebooks, humming softly. The tune was familiar—light, old-fashioned, like something from a childhood game.
He tilted his head. "That song… you used to hear it at summer festivals, right?"
Thanu looked up, surprised. "Yeah. My mom used to hum it when we went to the county fair every year."
"The one with the fireworks and the street food stalls?"
She smiled. "You went there too?"
Ji-Ho nodded, a strange tug in his chest. "Every year. I remember—" he hesitated, "—there was this one time a kid stole my dalgona candy and ran off."
Thanu laughed. "Wow, what kind of monster would do that?"
He chuckled. "A small one. Short hair. Big grin. Saved me from a dog though, so I couldn't even be mad."
Her laughter paused. Her eyes softened. "...There was a dog?"
"Yeah, this fluffy white one—like a cloud with fangs. It chased me until I tripped over my own shoes."
Thanu blinked, her expression distant, thoughtful. "That's weird. I… I remember a dog too."
Ji-Ho tilted his head. "Maybe all kids from that festival got chased at least once."
"Maybe." She smiled faintly, but her fingers played absently with the strap of her bag.
The cafeteria was chaos as always—students shouting orders, trays clattering, soup splashing. Ji-Ho and Tae-Sik squeezed into a table with Min-Ji and Seok-Cheol, while Thanu ended up sitting right across from him.
Tae-Sik pointed his chopsticks dramatically. "New transfer, huh? Busan accent and all. You must think our Seoul school food is a crime."
Thanu grinned. "Honestly? The soup's nice. Just needs… actual flavor."
Everyone laughed. Seok-Cheol nearly choked on his rice.
Ji-Ho watched her laugh again, and something unexplainable stirred—something warm and nostalgic. Like tasting something sweet he'd forgotten he loved.
He pushed his tray slightly toward her. "Here. Try my tteokbokki. It's from the senior's stall—they sneak in sugar packets."
She hesitated. "You sure?"
"Yeah. It's not poisoned."
She took one bite and instantly coughed from the spice. "Not poisoned, huh? Are you trying to kill me?"
"Science experiment," Ji-Ho said with mock seriousness. "Observation: Busan native defeated by Seoul street food."
Thanu wiped her eyes from laughing too hard. "You're unbelievable."
The others laughed with them, but Ji-Ho barely noticed. There was something about the way she said that—half amused, half familiar—that made his chest tighten again.
He couldn't explain it, but deep inside, a memory flickered—of a girl laughing under festival lights, holding a stolen dalgona between her hands.
Later that afternoon, as classes ended, Ji-Ho found himself walking home down the petal-covered road again.
He kicked at a loose blossom, watching it drift in the air.
From behind, someone called, "Hey—Han Ji-Ho!"
He turned. Thanu was jogging to catch up, her bag bouncing lightly against her shoulder.
"You forgot your pen," she said, holding it out.
"Oh—thanks again. You're like… my personal lost-and-found."
She smiled. "Guess I have a talent for stealing your stuff and returning it."
He laughed. "You sound like someone I used to know."
They stood there for a few quiet seconds, the sound of cicadas faint in the distance.
Then Thanu said softly, "You ever get that weird feeling… like something that already happened is about to happen again?"
Ji-Ho looked at her. "Yeah. Déjà vu."
"Yeah," she murmured, glancing at the drifting petals. "Feels like that."