I had never been pulled by the hand by anyone, let alone a girl. My first instinct was to freeze, to become a dead weight, but Carla's grip was surprisingly firm, her hand warm against mine. She weaved through the crowd of students with a natural grace, and I followed, a clumsy satellite pulled into her orbit. However i didn't feel much force behind her arms ,she was asking fragile as she appeared.
"You know, for a guy who uses pickup lines, you're not much of a talker," she said, glancing back at me with a grin.
"I told you, that wasn't—" I started, but she just laughed, cutting me off.
"I know, I know. The romance novel. A Heart in Hiding," she said. "The protagonist is infuriating, don't you think? All that pining when the answer is right in front of her."
I was stunned. She remembered the title. We spent the next ten minutes of our walk dissecting the book, and for the first time, my words didn't feel like clumsy stones in my mouth. They felt… easy. They fell out so naturally she was stunned by my sudden character development.
The ramen shop was not where I would have ever looked. It was down a narrow alley, tucked between a laundromat and a closed-down storefront. A single red lantern hung above the door. The second we stepped inside, we were enveloped in a cloud of steam rich with the smell of pork bone broth and soy sauce.
"Two tonkotsu ramens, extra chashu!" Carla announced to the elderly cook behind the counter, as if she'd been coming here her whole life. She found us a small wooden booth in the corner.
"So, 'Jin-I'm-Jin'," she began, leaning forward. "Tell me something. Why were you hiding in the library?"
The question was so direct it threw me off guard. I poked at the wooden chopsticks. "I wasn't hiding, and it's just Jin .J-I-N."
"Everyone's hiding from something," she said, her voice softer now. "Books are just really good places to do it, Jin."
And somehow, in that steamy, noisy, wonderful little shop, I told her. I told her about Seojun, about the silent house, about the kids who called me Weeds. I didn't spill my entire life story, but I gave her pieces of it—the lonely pieces I'd never given anyone else.
In return, she told me about her "Living List."
"It's not a bucket list," she insisted, her eyes sparkling. "A bucket list is for things you do before you die. A living list is for things that make you feel alive right now. Like finding the best ramen in the city." She gestured around us with her spoon. "Check."
When the bowls arrived, they were steaming works of art. We ate, and I forgot to be self-conscious. I slurped my noodles. She laughed when broth splashed on my shirt.
Walking back towards campus as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, the world felt different. The air was crisper. The city lights were brighter.
"So," she said, stopping at our parting point. "Same time tomorrow? We have to find the best bubble tea. It's on the list."
Unable to resist her beautiful smile,I just nodded with a stupid, irrepressible smile on my face.
When I got home, the house was its usual silent self. But the silence felt different. It wasn't empty anymore; it was quiet, waiting for me to fill it with the memory of her laugh and the thought of ramens taste we just had made me hungry again, not for the food but for the life i just tasted.