The week after the festival felt quieter than it should have.
The laughter that used to fill the campus sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else's story. I kept telling myself it was just post-festival exhaustion — everyone was tired, classes were catching up, life was going back to normal.
But "normal" didn't feel right anymore. Not when Soo-min stopped teasing me like she used to.
No more playful flicks to my forehead when I zoned out, no sarcastic comments when I tripped over my words, no lazy smirks that made me roll my eyes and hide my smile.
She still talked to me, still smiled sometimes — but it was polite, light, almost… careful. Like she was holding something back.
And maybe I was too.
---
Monday morning started like every other. I was early to class, sketchbook open, pretending to be busy.
When Soo-min walked in, my first instinct was to wave her over — but she didn't glance my way. She sat two rows ahead, sliding into her seat beside someone I didn't recognize.
The empty seat next to me suddenly felt like a spotlight.
"Morning," I said anyway, soft enough that maybe she didn't hear me.
She turned halfway, smiled faintly. "Hey."
Then the professor walked in, and the moment was gone.
It wasn't a big deal, I told myself. People sit in different places all the time. But the back of her head became all I could focus on through the lecture.
---
After class, I learned who that "someone" was.
A girl with long black hair and perfect posture approached her, carrying a folder and a practiced smile. I'd seen her around before — Chae-young, from the student council. The kind of girl everyone seemed to know but no one could quite approach.
"Thanks again for helping with the club budget forms," Chae-young said, her tone formal but warm.
"It's fine," Soo-min replied easily. "I didn't have much to do this week anyway."
She smiled back — small, genuine — and they walked out together.
Just like that.
No glance in my direction. No teasing comment about me doodling in class.
I stared after them until they disappeared around the corner. My chest felt weirdly tight, but I couldn't tell if it was irritation, confusion, or both.
---
At Dorm
That night, Yura and I sat in our shared dorm room. She was scrolling through her phone, laughing at some meme, while I pretended to read my notes.
"You've been sighing for the last ten minutes," she said without looking up.
"I haven't," I muttered.
She gave me a side-eye. "You totally have. What's wrong? Don't tell me you're still stressing about the art assignment."
I hesitated. "It's not that. It's just…"
Her grin turned mischievous instantly. "Oh? It's about Soo-min, isn't it?"
"Yura!"
"Come on, it's obvious. You two were practically glued together during the festival, and now she's always with that student council girl. What's her name? Chaeyoung?"
"Chae-young," I corrected automatically — then regretted it.
Yura's smile softened a bit. "Hey. Don't overthink it. You know how she is. She probably got roped into some work thing and doesn't know how to say no."
"Maybe," I said, tracing circles on my bedsheet.
But I couldn't shake the image of Soo-min walking side by side with that girl, their heads close as they talked.
That night, when Yura's breathing evened out in sleep, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering why it bothered me so much.
---
The next few days confirmed it wasn't a one-time thing.
Every lunch break, every group meet-up — she was either "busy with the council" or rushing off somewhere. When she did show up, she smiled and laughed like nothing had changed. But she never teased me anymore.
It was like she'd quietly drawn a line I didn't know existed.
Even Mirae noticed one afternoon in the cafeteria. "You okay?" she asked softly when Yura and Hye-jin went to grab drinks.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I said, stabbing my rice with a little too much force.
Mirae tilted her head. "You've been quieter lately. And Soo-min's been… different."
I gave a noncommittal shrug. "She's busy."
"Busy doesn't mean distant."
Her words lingered longer than I wanted them to.
---
Thursday afternoon, I stayed late to clean up my paint station in the art room.
The door creaked open, and my heart leapt before I even turned — somehow hoping it was her.
It was.
Soo-min stood in the doorway, holding two paper cups of coffee. "Hey," she said, her voice calm, easy. "You looked like you could use a break."
I took one cup, murmuring thanks.
We sat on the steps outside, sipping in silence. The sun dipped low, painting the courtyard in amber light. For a few seconds, it almost felt like before — quiet, comfortable, ours.
Until her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen, smiled faintly. "Chae-young," she said, almost apologetically. "She's waiting near the office. I should go."
My fingers tightened on the cup. "Of course."
She stood, brushing dust off her jeans. "I'll text you later, okay?"
"Sure," I said, smiling too quickly.
But when she left, the cup in my hand went cold before I realized I hadn't taken another sip.
---
Midnight
That night, Yura found me sitting by the dorm window, chin resting on my knees.
"You're thinking again," she said, half-asleep.
"I always think."
"Yeah, but this one looks like the kind that hurts."
I chuckled quietly, not denying it.
She yawned and mumbled, "If you miss her, just tell her. You're both idiots if you keep pretending."
Her words were too simple, too honest.
I wanted to tell her she was wrong — that it wasn't about missing her, that I just didn't understand why things had shifted. But the truth was harder to face.
I did miss her. Every small tease, every quiet look, every stupid inside joke.
And now she was laughing with someone else.
---
Friday Afternoon
By the week's end, I'd gotten used to the ache — or maybe just good at ignoring it.
After class, I walked by the student council office, intending to drop off a form. The door was half-open.
Inside, Soo-min and Chae-young sat at a table littered with papers. Chae-young leaned closer, pointing at something on the page. Their faces were close — too close — and when Soo-min laughed softly, my heart clenched like a fist.
I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but Chae-young's voice carried.
"You're really reliable, Soo-min. The council could use someone like you permanently."
Soo-min smiled. "I don't know about that. But… thanks."
It was harmless. Just words.
But the warmth in her smile — the one that used to be directed at me — burned.
I stepped back before they noticed, the sound of my own heartbeat loud in my ears.
---
That Night
Back in the dorm, Yura was humming while folding laundry.
"You're quiet again," she said, glancing at me.
"Just tired," I replied.
She studied me for a moment before tossing a sock at my face. "You're a terrible liar, Eun-ji."
I caught it weakly and laughed. "Yeah. Maybe."
When she went to shower, I pulled out my sketchbook again. The last page was half-finished — a faint outline of two figures under festival lanterns.
But when I tried to draw Soo-min's face, the lines blurred.
I closed the book and whispered into the quiet,
"I don't know what we are anymore."