The first morning I skipped the class, it wasn't an accident.
My alarm went off like always. I lay there for a long time before I switched it off. The idea of going in and acting as if everything was okay — seeing her and smiling and pretending — made my stomach turn.
So I just stayed in bed.
Rain was falling outside in that gentle, blurring way that makes everything beyond the window look distantly real. I said to myself I'd just lie there a little longer. But by the time I glanced at the time, it was already after noon.
Yura walked in a little while later with two paper cups from the campus cafe. "You didn't go to class?"
"Didn't feel well," I replied. My voice sounded rough, too low.
She frowned, placing the cup on my desk. "You've been 'not feeling well' since Friday."
I didn't respond.
She sighed but didn't press. "At least drink something, okay?"
The door closed softly behind her. The room seemed heavier once she had left.
---
By the third day, I ceased pretending.
I avoided my phone, avoided the texts accumulating in our group chat — Yura's goading ones becoming anxious ones, Mirae's brief "Are you okay?" messages, and Hye-jin's more direct:
> "You've skipped three classes already. What's wrong with you?"
I couldn't tell them — not without sounding absurd. "Sorry, I just saw the girl I have a crush on hugging someone else and now I'm useless."
So I said nothing.
The rest of the world outside my dorm continued to turn, classes taking place, laughter ringing down the corridors. I observed from my bed, covered in a blanket that had the faint scent of soap and isolation.
My sketchbook was propped open next to me, the unfinished drawing of that carnival night looking at me. I attempted to work on it once, but whenever I held the pencil, the lines trembled — as if my hands were turning against me.
---
That evening, Yura pushed open the door again, arms folded.
"Okay, this is getting strange. You have only had crackers for two days."
"I'm not hungry."
She glared. "Liar. You always want to eat at midnight."
I attempted to smile, but it was a failure. "Guess I'm changing."
She plopped down at the edge of my bed, voice becoming less sharp. "Eun-ji… did something go wrong with Soo-min?"
My breath hitched. "Why would you think that?"
Because I'm not blind," she whispered. "You two were okay, and then suddenly you're ignoring her. She's constantly asking you if you're okay."
I shifted my face away. "She can ask herself."
"Would you even let her?"
The tension between us thinned into a whisper.
Eventually, Yura sighed. "I don't know what happened, but… don't do this to me, okay? It's not you."
When she departed, I gazed at the door until my eyes were dry.
---
It was one of those endless days.
Day and night were identical. My body hurt from resting too long, but whenever I attempted to shift, to rise, to do anything, I sank back down again.
The others continued to visit.
Hye-jin delivered soup one afternoon and said, "You must eat."
Mirae handed me sketch paper and leaned in and whispered, "I miss watching you draw."
I thanked them both — hollow words that didn't quite reach my chest.
And then there were the times I could've sworn I heard her in the hallway.
A moment of hesitation in the hall. The faint sound of tentative steps. Then nothing.
Half of me hoped she would knock. The other half hoped she wouldn't.
---
It wasn't until the fifth day that I was finally able to leave the room.
The campus air struck me like icy water — too bright, too cutting. The world had continued on without me. People talking, laughing, hurrying between buildings like it was business as usual.
I wandered around until I found myself at the old bench by the art building — the one where we would sit after class, swapping jokes about everyone who passed by.
It was the same, except for the emptiness.
I sat there a long time, gazing at my hands.
I didn't even realize someone was coming until a shadow landed over me.
"Eun-ji?"
Mirae's voice. She looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected me to be there in the first place.
"Hey," I said, trying to smile.
"You look pale." She sat down beside me and examined my face. "Yura said you were ill."
"Something like that."
She paused, then asked quietly, "Did you and Soo-min have a fight?
I shook my head. "No. Not exactly."
Mirae scrunched up her face. "Then what—"
"I saw her," I said impulsively before I could catch myself. "With that student council girl. They were hugging."
Mirae blinked in understanding. "You mean Chae-young?"
"Yeah." I laughed lamely, looking down. "It's stupid, right? I don't even know what they were saying. But… it felt like—"
"Like something broke," she filled in softly.
I nodded. "Yeah."
She didn't attempt to explain to me that I was overreacting. She didn't tell me I was seeing things. She simply sat there, shoulder to shoulder with me, the quiet comfortable for once.
"Perhaps speak to her," she said after a bit. "You both look unhappy."
"I don't think I can yet."
She nodded as if she got it. "Then at least promise you won't keep doing this to yourself."
I never promised her that. But I wanted to.
---
Later that night, I walked through the main hallway to get back to the dorms — and stopped.
Soo-min stood a few strides in front of me, speaking to someone. Her hair glowed like honey against her brown coat.
My heart skipped a beat.
When she turned, she glanced at me for a fraction of a second.
She seemed surprised. Relieved, even. Then uncertain.
"Eun-ji—" she began, but before she could move, Chae-young had called out her name behind.
Soo-min hesitated. Glanced between me.
Then she turned toward Chae-young.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't cruel. But it was enough.
I turned away before I could hear anything further.
---
In the dorm, Yura was waiting, arms crossed.
"You disappeared again," she said.
"I just needed air."
"You look like you need more than that."
I collapsed into the chair, hiding my face in my hands. "Yura… I think I did wrong."
Her face softened immediately. "What sort of mistake?"
"I didn't ask," I murmured. "I just… assumed."
She dropped into a crouch beside me. "Then set it right before it makes things worse."
I stared up at her, burning eyes. "What if it already has?"
Yura's voice was hard, but soft. "Then at least don't let it end this way."
---
That evening, I slept not.
But rather than lying awake and looking up at the ceiling, I opened my sketchbook.
I sketched her — not from memory, but from feeling.
The gentle curve of her smile, the warmth that once sat between us, the distance that now took its place.
In some place between the lines, the pain lessened a little.
I had no idea what tomorrow held — whether she would speak with me, or shun me, or whether I would have the guts to approach her in the first place.
But I was certain of one thing.
I didn't want this silence to remain between us forever.