JIAH POV
"Jiah," he says again, softer this time. "I wanted to talk to you."
I nod once. Waiting.
I don't smile. I don't brace myself either. I just stand there with my bag strap cutting into my shoulder and the sun hitting my eyes too bright, like the universe is trying to spotlight this moment and I didn't consent.
He shifts his weight, shoes scraping the ground. A group of first-years runs past us, loud and careless, laughing like the air doesn't feel heavy at all.
Somewhere behind me, lockers slam. Someone yells a name. Life keeps moving. Of course it does.
"I've been thinking," he starts. "About us. About you."
Something in my chest tightens.
Not the good kind. Not the butterflies, not the stupid hope that used to spark just from hearing his voice say my name. This is different. This is sharp. Like my body is warning me before my brain catches up.
He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous. I've memorized this version of him. This exact posture. This exact tone. I used to read meaning into it. Thought it meant something special.
It doesn't anymore.
He takes a breath. "I think I—"
Time slows down in the worst way.
Not cinematic. Not dramatic. Just that awful stretched-out second where you already know the outcome and you're powerless to stop it. My brain fills in the blanks before his mouth does.
I see it again.
Shin Ara's fingers curled into his shirt.
The angle of his head.
The way he didn't hesitate.
It flashes so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
"I think I like you," he says.
There it is.
The sentence I chased for a year and a half. The one I replayed in my head at night like a promise. The one I imagined sounding different. Better. Earned.
My body freezes.
Not in excitement. Not in shock.
Just… empty.
No rush. No spark. No stupid flutter in my chest. Just a hollow drop, like the bottom fell out and nothing rushed in to replace it.
This is it?
This is the moment?
I stare at him and all I can think is: you kissed her yesterday.
My mouth opens slightly, then closes again. My hands feel cold. My fingers curl tighter around my bag strap because if I let go, I feel like something inside me might spill out instead.
He's smiling now. Careful. Hopeful. Like he's waiting for me to finally reward him for something.
I don't know why that pisses me off.
How can you stand here and say this to me after that?
The thought burns hot and fast. How can you look at me like this when your mouth was on someone else's lips like it belonged there?
Is this what he means by liking someone?
Is this what I waited for?
I swallow.
My throat feels tight, like I'm about to cry, but nothing comes out. Just pressure. Just this awful, crawling dread spreading under my skin.
I let out a laugh.
It surprises both of us.
It's not loud. It's slow. Disbelieving. The kind that slips out when your brain short-circuits and your body fills in the silence with something stupid.
"Baek Jiho," I say, his full name tasting strange on my tongue.
He hums softly, smiling wider. Like that laugh encouraged him. Like he thinks this is going where he wants it to go.
I look at his eyes.
Really look.
They're warm. Familiar. Kind in that safe, distant way. The eyes I used to search for in every hallway. The eyes I thought I'd recognize forever.
And suddenly, I don't feel anything.
Not love. Not anger. Just this deep, aching exhaustion.
"Just like you said before," I hear myself say.
My voice doesn't shake. That scares me more than anything else.
"I'm sorry," I continue. "I don't have any feelings for you anymore."
The smile slides off his face.
Not dramatically. It just… disappears. Like someone erased it mid-expression. His eyes widen slightly, breath catching like he misheard me.
"What?" he says.
Behind me, someone gasps.
A real one. Sharp. Loud. Too close.
That's when it hits me.
We're not alone.
I feel it before I turn. The presence. The weight of attention pressing into my back. Whispers already starting, quick and hungry, like this is better than any gossip they could've hoped for.
I don't turn around.
I don't need to.
I straighten my shoulders instead.
Jiho is still staring at me like the ground just shifted under his feet and no one warned him. Like rejection isn't something he expected to hear from me. Not ever.
I nod once, mostly to myself.
"Then," I say quietly.
There's nothing else to add.
I step around him.
My legs move before my heart catches up. Each step toward the building feels heavier than the last, like my chest is cracking open in tiny, invisible fractures. It hurts. Of course it does. I didn't just reject him.
I rejected the version of myself that kept waiting.
The girl who cheered his name in a basketball court days ago.
The girl who believed patience meant something.
The girl who thought being chosen would fix the ache.
My vision blurs, but I don't stop walking.
I don't look back.
The school doors loom ahead, solid and unforgiving. I push them open and step inside, the noise swallowing me whole, my heart breaking quietly where no one can see it.
------------------
Class has been going for a while.
The clock ticks too loud.
Every second lands heavy, like it's doing it on purpose just to mess with me. The teacher's voice drifts in and out, chalk squeaking, pages flipping, desks creaking. Normal sounds. Normal class.
Nothing about me feels normal.
Enhyeok sits beside me like he always does. Same posture. Same distance. Elbow just far enough away to make it clear we are not sharing oxygen.
His pen moves steadily across the page, neat and controlled, like his head didn't almost crack open last night. Like he didn't chase a bus into the dark. Like he didn't stand between me and something that could've gone very wrong.
He doesn't look at me.
I don't look at him either.
The space between us feels thicker than usual. Not awkward. Not tense in a loud way. Just… dense. Like it would take effort to reach across it, and neither of us plans to.
I stare at my notebook.
The words blur. I've written the same thing twice without noticing. My hand keeps moving anyway, muscle memory doing all the work while my brain stays somewhere else. Hallways. Voices. Jiho's face. Ara's fingers on his wrist.
The bell rang.
"JIAH."
The shout explodes through the room.
I flinch so hard my pen skids across the page, leaving an ugly line of ink. My head snaps up.
Bora is halfway out of her seat, palms slapped on my desk, eyes wide like she just saw a ghost. Haerin stands behind her, frozen mid-step, mouth slightly open, like her brain is still catching up.
Every single head in the class turns toward me.
The sound hits all at once. Chairs shifting. Sharp inhales. That awful hush that means something interesting is happening and everyone wants front-row seats.
"What?" I say, my voice coming out hoarse.
Bora doesn't lower her voice. Of course she doesn't.
"Did you reject Jiho?"
The room goes still.
Not quiet. Still.
Like someone pressed pause.
My heart thuds once, hard. I feel it in my throat, my ears. I lean back against my chair slowly, letting the wood support my weight because suddenly I don't trust my knees.
"Yes," I say.
Just that.
A wave of gasps ripples through the room. Actual gasps. Someone mutters "no way." Someone else whispers my name like it's a rumor already spreading.
Bora's jaw drops.
Haerin's eyes go huge, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. She looks at me like I just announced I quit breathing.
"What?" Bora blurts. "Why? He's—Jiah, he's your—" She gestures wildly, like the words are physically stuck in her hands. "You chased him for this. For like, forever."
I look back down at my notebook.
The paper is creased where my fingers dig into it.
"It was," I say quietly. "Past tense."
The word lands heavier than I expect.
Bora opens her mouth again, probably to argue, to defend a version of me that doesn't exist anymore.
I don't let her.
I push my chair back and stand.
The screech of metal against the floor is loud, sharp, cutting through the murmurs. The teacher starts to say my name, confused, annoyed. I don't stop.
"Jiah?" Haerin calls. "Where are you going?"
Bora echoes it, louder. "Hey—Jiah!"
I don't answer.
I walk out.
The hallway swallows me instantly. Cooler air. Echoing footsteps. My heartbeat is too loud in my ears, pounding unevenly, like it doesn't trust what I just did.
I keep walking.
Don't stop. Don't think. Don't turn around.
My hands are shaking now. I shove them into my sleeves, fingers curling into fabric like that might hold me together. My breath comes shallow, sharp, scraping my throat on the way in.
I'm almost at the stairs when someone steps into my path.
I stop short.
Jeonhwa.
He stands there casually, hands in his pockets, head tilted like he's just been waiting for me to show up. His eyes flick over my face, sharp and curious, like he's filing things away.
"What do you want?" I snap.
He raises a brow. "Relax. I just wanted to confirm something."
My stomach tightens.
"The guy you were stalked back then," he says lightly. "That was Baek Jiho, right?"
Something hot flares in my chest.
Anger. Sudden and blinding.
"Yes," I say, stepping closer. "You're right. So what now?"
He doesn't move.
"You wanna tell everyone?" I keep going, words spilling fast, sharp. "Go ahead. Tell them I stalked my crush in broad daylight like a fucking idiot. Say it. Say it out loud."
Jeonhwa freezes.
Not dramatically. Just… stops. Like he didn't expect me to swing back.
"You don't get to make me run errands for you," I add, voice shaking now but loud anyway. "This blackmail crap? Expired. Try someone else."
He opens his mouth.
I don't wait.
I shove past him, shoulder slamming into his chest harder than I think possible given our height difference. He stumbles back a step, stunned.
Before I turn,
"Seo Jiah."
The voice cuts through the hallway.
Sharp. Cold. Precise.
My blood turns ice.
I turn slowly.
Shin Ara walks toward me, heels clicking against the floor like punctuation. Her posture is perfect. Her smile is not.
Behind her—
She's gripping someone's wrist.
Tight.
Is
Baek Jiho .