From the first day of the semester until things finally settled into routine, Lena discovered something unexpected. Miu's schedule was easier to memorize than any textbook.

Not because Miu was predictable. On the contrary, she was the kind of person around whom small surprises constantly unfolded. Yet within all that spontaneity and freedom, there were subtle patterns. Quiet rules that revealed themselves only to those patient enough to notice.

And Lena had been born to notice such things.

⸻

In the mornings, around eight thirty, if Miu did not have an early class, she would appear at the small drink stall near the Arts building. She almost always ordered the same thing. Oolong milk tea, less sweet. Lena learned this after passing by at the right time three days in a row.

The first day, she saw the cup in Miu's hand.
The second day, the same.
On the third day, Lena lingered just long enough to hear Miu tell the staff,

"The usual, please."

Lena made a quiet note in her mind. Miu did not like changing drinks. She preferred familiarity to risk.

At noon, if it was not raining, Miu would sit on the steps outside the studio rooms. She ate while flipping through her sketchbook, one earphone in. When she concentrated, she lightly pursed her lips. When ideas stalled, she rested her chin in her hand and stared out at the empty courtyard.

Lena passed by often enough to learn that
Miu's favorite meal was spicy chicken rice.
Second was fried noodles.
Third was nothing at all. Just drinks and candy.

"You are not eating?" a friend asked her once.

"Not hungry," Miu replied. "I want to draw."

Lena heard that from the upper floor. She could not see Miu's face clearly, but she heard the voice. Still clear. Still warm. Just deeper than it had been years ago.

⸻

In the afternoons, if there were no classes, Miu often went to the small library near the Arts building. Not the central library everyone visited, but a quieter one. Smaller. Filled with colorful books.

Lena was in the library too. Not because she was trying to engineer an accidental meeting. At least, that was what she told herself.

She sat upstairs, where she could look down into the open space between shelves. Miu always chose a table near the window. Good light. A gentle breeze. Quiet. She spread her pens, rulers, laptop, sometimes even a small watercolor set across the desk, arranging a world that belonged only to her.

Lena placed her book down and opened a new page. But every time she turned one, her gaze drifted downward. She began to notice that Miu liked to fidget with the tip of her pen while thinking. When tense, she bit her lower lip. When happy, her foot swung slightly for no reason at all.

Sometimes Miu's phone lit up with a message.
"Want to eat?"

Miu glanced at the screen, her lips curving faintly, but she always replied after a few minutes. She hesitated before leaving her seat.

Lena remembered that too.

⸻

At times, Lena wondered if what she was doing was strange.

She walked through corridors with books in her arms, looking busy with schoolwork, yet within her field of vision she was always aware of where Miu might be. When someone called out, "Miu," Lena did not turn her head, but her attention shifted instantly.

Once, she stood on the second floor balcony looking down at the courtyard. Miu was walking with friends, laughing loudly, her arms moving freely. Sunlight caught in her tied hair, forming a faint halo around her head.

Lena watched until she forgot she was holding her phone, the screen long since gone dark.

It was a kind of watching that left no trace.
No photos.
No recordings.
No saved files.

Only memory and eyes.

If someone had asked, Lena could have recited an entire week of Miu's life. What she ate. What she studied. Where she liked to stand. What she forgot easily. Who she laughed with.

But no one asked. And Lena had no intention of answering.

⸻

One afternoon, while Lena was in the main library, voices from the hallway drifted in. Male students from another faculty.

"I am serious. She is probably the hottest girl in their year."

"Miu?"

"Yeah. Looks friendly, but she is hard to get. I messaged her a few times and only got short replies."

"Give it up. She is from a conglomerate family. You think she is easy?"

Lena did not lift her head. She did not look outside. But her hand tightened on the edge of the book, fingernails pressing into the paper.

She was not annoyed that people noticed Miu. Someone that radiant was bound to draw attention.

What unsettled her was the way they spoke. As if Miu were a challenge. A prize to try their luck with.

Lena turned the page. She did not read a single word. A small, sharp thought surfaced in her mind.

Do not touch her.
She is not someone you get to lay hands on.

⸻

That night, Lena opened a new notebook. The old one, filled with childhood sketches of Miu, was tucked deep inside a drawer.

She opened the first page. This time, she did not draw. She wrote.

"She likes oolong tea with less sugar. She forgets to eat when she draws. She laughs often, but her eyes are sometimes empty. She has many friends, but prefers to sit alone in the late afternoon."

She paused, then added another line.

"She is like a beautiful painting displayed in public. Anyone passing by can stop to admire it. But I do not want her to be only that."

Lena closed the notebook. A strange feeling settled in her chest. Not infatuation. Not softness. Something deeper. Slower. Something that held on tightly.

She had done nothing yet. She had not approached. Had not entered Miu's world. But she knew that sooner or later, there would come a day when standing and watching would no longer be enough.

For now, it was enough to memorize.
To observe.
To understand her.

The rest, Lena had time for. She had waited seven years. A few more months meant nothing. What mattered was that this time, when she stepped into the frame, Miu would not be able to disappear so easily again.