I'm not rereading the chat.

I swear I'm not.

I'm just... verifying. Looking for that thing Haeri said about Professor Howard, something about his grading style being like getting judged by an ancient deity with a grudge. It was hilarious. And possibly useful. She mentioned it last week, I think?

So now I'm just scrolling back. Casually. With the same energy one might use to find a tax document or, I don't know, lost socks. Very utilitarian. Very emotionless.

Except, of course, I'm totally reading everything.

There's the way she uses punctuation — like she thinks in musical beats. Lots of ellipses, like she's pausing to make sure I'm catching the joke. And she always spells out her laughter. Not just "lol". No, Haeri writes "kkkkkkkkk" like she physically fell off a chair, every single time.

My thumb hovers as I scroll past one message. Just a dumb line she threw in about how her cold brew tasted like regret and capitalism.

I laughed out loud when she sent it.

Still funny.

And then it hits me — or maybe it hit me back then, at the dining hall, the third time I met her, and I just didn't want to admit it yet — that ridiculous, creeping awareness.

I like her.

Not in a Shakespearean sonnet, ready-to-announce-it-on-a-hilltop kind of way. Not even in the usual slow-burn interest I get for someone over weeks. This is... faster. Dumber. A little unhinged.

Great.

The worst part? It didn't even start with anything dramatic. No big rom-com moment. It was a Tuesday. Just a regular, mildly cold, deeply uneventful Tuesday.

--++*++--

I'm in the dining hall line with earbuds in, but no music playing. It's a habit I picked up to avoid conversations. If people think you're listening to something, they leave you alone. Usually.

The air smells like fried tofu and whatever ambiguous meat source they're pushing today. My stomach's not exactly thrilled, but I'm thinking about a paper due next week and maybe whether I should get into tea. Just normal, random guy thoughts.

Then I hear Korean.

Not unusual on campus. But this cluster of voices is familiar. Laughter layered on top of chatter, overlapping in the way that says these people are used to each other. I glance over.

It's the usual group: Taeho, Chloe, Tamara, Yegi... and her.

Haeri's got her hair clipped up in this slightly chaotic way, pieces falling loose at her neck. She's peeling the wrapper off a mini cupcake with deep concentration, like it's some kind of sacred ritual.

She doesn't even look up.

Taeho spots me first. Waves me over with the urgency of someone who refuses to be the only guy at the table again.

"Yo! Come sit!"

I hesitate. I'm not really in their group. I'm more like... adjacent. I exist in their peripheral vision. They helped me out because I was new to the college and the city. But before I can invent a reason to escape, Taeho's already moving his tray to make room.

So I sit.

Haeri glances up once I settle in, eyes flicking toward me with barely a nod. "Oh, Yujin. You're brave," she says, lowkey. "Diving into the chaos voluntarily."

I laugh.

Too loud. Way too loud. Like she just dropped a full stand-up set.

Tamara's talking about her anthropology class and how her professor lowkey looks like a suspiciously tan Dracula. Chloe's arguing that oat milk is a scam. Yegi is already complaining about the quiz she hasn't even taken yet. Taeho knocks over his water within the first five minutes.

But me? I'm just sitting there, hyper-aware of Haeri.

She's not wearing makeup. Her skin has that real-skin texture, soft and uneven in the most human way. She's not trying to be anything but present. It's rare. You don't see that much anymore. Not here. Not with everyone always performing some version of themselves.

She takes a bite of the cupcake. Makes a face. "Too sweet. Betrayal in icing form."

"Justice for chocolate," I offer, without thinking.

She grins. "You get it."

We get into talking about books. Somehow we land on The Lord of the Rings. I admit, with the shame of someone confessing to a crime, that I still get Merry and Pippin mixed up.

She gasps, dramatically. "How dare you. Pippin is chaos. Merry has strategy. This is BASIC."

I pretend to bow. "Forgive me, Tolkien overlord."

Chloe throws a piece of lettuce at me. "Don't encourage her."

Then somehow we land on Gandalf vs. Dumbledore. The debate of wizarding morality.

Haeri's face lights up like she's just been handed a sword in a fantasy epic. "Okay, but Gandalf chooses to let people suffer in silence more often. He's all about the long game. Dumbledore's just emotionally manipulative."

"So you're Team Machiavelli Gandalf over Puppetmaster Dumbledore?"

"Exactly," she says, stabbing her fork in the air. "At least Gandalf doesn't pretend to care."

It gets surprisingly intense. Everyone's laughing, even Yegi who swore she didn't care about wizards. At one point, Haeri throws a crouton at me when I claim Dumbledore had better fashion.

I offer her a bite of the sesame tofu I grabbed. Not in a weird, over-the-top "please accept my offering, fair maiden" way. Just casual. Normal.

She takes it. Doesn't even pause. "Not bad. Slightly less betrayal than the cupcake."

One by one, the group starts to peel away. Chloe gets a call. Yegi has an evening class. Taeho says something about assignment deadline and going to make video call with his girlfriend. Tamara gets distracted by some guy near the dessert bar.

And for a few seconds, it's just me and Haeri.

She stands, adjusting her jacket. Slings her bag over one shoulder.

"Thanks for reminding me about the kungpao," she says. "Totally worth it."

She taps the table twice, casual as ever, and walks off.

I sit there for a beat too long. Maybe two beats.

A while later, I leave the dining hall. It's dark now. The campus lights flicker with that weird golden hue that makes everything feel like a dream or a student film.

I put my earbuds in. This time, music actually plays. Not that I hear it.

My brain's on a loop of her voice. The way she said my name like she wasn't quite sure what to make of me yet. Her quiet wit. The way her fingers curled around her water bottle. The crouton war.

And suddenly it clicks.

It's not just that I like her.

It's that I'm done for.

Already spiraling.

Already wondering if I have a chance or if I'm just one of the dozen mildly entertaining guys she meets on her daily quest for caffeine and sarcasm.

Shit. I think I like her.

I walk faster.

"Shit."