Jae-hyun's POV
The park near campus was mostly empty, save for a few scattered students and the occasional jogger weaving past benches under the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. Jae-hyun walked beside Seo-ah, their pace unhurried, the silence between them gentle rather than awkward. She hugged her notebook close to her chest, her fingers white-knuckled against the cover.
He noticed. But said nothing.
There was a different kind of quiet in her today.
Something had shifted since their group session in the library. The way she glanced at him now — it lingered just a second too long. Like she was studying a riddle she didn't know she was meant to solve.
He wasn't ready for her to solve it yet.
But God, he wanted to talk to her.
They found an empty bench by the fountain. He sat first. She joined him, cautiously, like she wasn't sure she should be there at all.
He pulled his sleeves over his wrists, fingers nervously threading into the fabric.
"So," he began, breaking the silence with a light chuckle, "how do you write something that feels real without revealing too much of yourself?"
Seo-ah looked surprised. "That's... a strange question."
"Maybe," he said. "But I've been wondering. I read so many stories that feel like confessions. I keep thinking — were they meant to be read? Or were they meant to be found?"
Her brows pulled together.
Jae-hyun swallowed, choosing his next words carefully.
"I think the stories that stay with you are the ones where the writer bled a little," he said quietly. "Even if they covered it in pretty metaphors."
She didn't speak. But she looked at him. Really looked.
So he continued, softer this time.
"Do you write because it hurts... or because it heals?"
There was a sharp breath — not from him.
Seo-ah hesitated, her fingers still tight around her notebook.
"I think…" she said, voice quiet, "at first, it was to survive something. Then it became a way to make sense of it. Like if I put it on the page, it couldn't control me anymore."
He turned slightly toward her. "That sounds brave."
"It's not," she said. "It's necessary."
They sat in silence again, this time heavier. But not unbearable. Just... full.
The breeze played with the edge of her hair, and for a moment, Jae-hyun thought of reaching out to brush it back. He didn't.
Instead, he said, barely above a whisper:
"If every version of me in every timeline met you… I think they'd all fall too."
Seo-ah's head turned slowly.
"What?"
He met her eyes. Didn't blink. Didn't smile.
"I mean it," he said. "I don't think there's a version of me — past, future, parallel, fictional — that wouldn't stop everything just to know you."
Her breath hitched.
"I—" she started, then faltered. "That sounds like... a quote."
"Maybe it is," he said, lips curving faintly. "Maybe it's just how I feel."
The silence that followed was vast and pulsing. Neither of them looked away.
Seo-ah swallowed. "You don't know me."
He exhaled. "I think I'm starting to."
And for once, she didn't deny it.
She looked down at her notebook. Then to the fountain. Then back at him.
"You really think every version of you would fall for someone like me?" she asked, voice laced with something fragile. Hope, maybe.
"I don't think so," he said. "I know it."
A pause. The wind carried petals from a nearby tree across the path.
She smiled. Barely. But it was real.
"I don't know what to do with that," she admitted.
He shrugged lightly. "You don't have to do anything. I just... wanted you to know."
They sat like that, quiet again, side by side.
He didn't touch her. Didn't lean closer. Didn't try to claim anything.
But his words remained — lodged in the air between them like a promise she hadn't asked for, but somehow needed.
Later, they walked slowly back to the edge of campus, their steps syncing without them realizing it. Every few minutes, she would glance up at him like she was still holding that line in her mind, like it wouldn't let her go.
Just before parting ways, she paused.
"You always say things like you're reading from a book no one else has access to," she said.
Jae-hyun smiled. "Maybe I'm just trying to write a better one."
She nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.
And then she left.
Jae-hyun stood there for a while, hands in his pockets, heart echoing with things he hadn't said yet.
If she ever asked, he'd say it all. But only when she was ready.
For now, he would wait.
Not just for her.
But for the story they were slowly beginning to write together.