I turn my buzzing phone over.

It’s a message from Dae.

A flicker of disappointment stirs before I can stop it — small, sharp, unreasonable. I hate that I know whose name I was hoping to see instead.

I open the message anyway.

Dae: Are you ok???

I type back quickly.

Me: Yeah. On my way home.

Three dots appear instantly.

Dae: Already??

Dae: Jay.

Dae: ALREADY??

I stare at the screen.

Me: It’s late.

Dae: That is not an explanation.

Another message pops up before I can decide how much I’m willing to give.

Dae: So???
Dae: Spill.
Dae: I need timestamps.

I close my eyes briefly. I don’t need timestamps. My body has memorized everything with violent precision. My lips pressed hotly against his. The deliberate way he slowed me down. The warmth of his breath on my ear.

Next time, don’t close your eyes so much.

Heat creeps up my neck.

I type. Delete. Type again.

Me: I’ll tell you Monday.

The typing bubble appears so fast it’s almost aggressive.

Dae: MONDAY???
Dae: Jay it’s Saturday night!
Dae: You cannot emotionally blue-ball me like this!

Despite myself, a smile tugs at my mouth.

Me: Good night.

The three dots blink. Disappear. Reappear.

Dae: You’re smiling right now, aren’t you?

I glance at the dark window beside me. My reflection betrays me instantly.

Annoying.

I don’t answer.

Dae: Did you at least have a good time? Did he treat you well?

That one doesn’t require hesitation.

Me: Yes. He was great.

More than great. Careful. Intentional. Terrifying.

Dae: Uuuuhhhhhhh! You like him.

Not a question.

I stare at the message until the car slows at a red light. Outside, Seoul continues moving — neon signs blinking, strangers crossing streets, traffic indifferent to the fact that something profound has shifted inside me.

I don’t reply.

Another notification.

A single mad-face emoji.

I huff quietly.

Me: Good night, Dae.

Dae: 😝

I place the phone face down on the seat beside me.

I suddenly feel drained. Too much input has gone in tonight.

I close my eyes and sink into the seats, letting thoughts of him return without interruption.

His restraint.
His patience.
The way he said my name like I belonged to him already.

My chest tightens.

The city keeps moving.

Despite my fatigue, I don’t want this night to end.

The university archway rises ahead of me. Monday mornings are usually concrete, predictable. But today it feels like walking into weather.

I’m not sure how I survived the weekend, but somehow my calming and proprioception gadgets proved their worth. 

My pulse refuses to settle. Every step splits me in two — one half desperate to see him, the other rehearsing exits. Fire stairs. Empty seminar rooms. The far corner of the library stacks where no one ever goes. 

Should I be distant?

Careless?

Pretend the kiss was just a collision of proximity and wine?

Or do I look at him the way he had looked at me in that elevator — like the world narrowed to a single point and I was standing in it?

The hum of campus scrapes at my nerves. Laughter. Backpacks dragging. Shoes squeaking against tile. Every sound is amplified until it presses against my skull.

Then I see Dae in the hallway. She’s mid-laugh, animated, glowing, talking to someone I don’t recognize. 

“Hey. Come here.”

It comes out sharper than intended. I grab her sleeve — too fast, too tight — and pull her away from her bewildered companion.

“Hey! Jay—slow down!”

Not until we reach the quieter hallway near the old language classrooms do I release her. I check both ends automatically.

“We kissed.”

The words drop between us like contraband.

Dae freezes.

Then her face fractures into pure, incandescent delight.

“What?!” she breathes. “No way. Finally.”

She lunges.

The hug hits like static through wet wires.

Pain flashes beneath my skin. My muscles lock. 

I shove her off with a sharp inhale.

“Dae. Don’t.”

She steps back immediately, guilt softening her expression. “Sorry. I forgot.”

I nod once, swallowing the residual electricity crawling under my nerves.

“You have a mate,” she whispers, reverent. “Do you understand how huge that is?”

My jaw tightens.

“Don’t say it like that.” Because if it’s real—if it’s that big—then the fall will be catastrophic.

“What do I do when I see him?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Nothing,” she says easily. “Act normal.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

She grins. “Your body will.”

“Dae, my body is at war with me twenty-four seven.”

She laughs. “See? He makes you funny.”

I don’t feel funny. I feel exposed.

“Come on! Let's go tell Hoon!" 

She turns on her heels, a whirlwind of excited energy. 

I watch her go, feeling the nervous energy around me turn up a notch. The world seems to be spinning wildly out of my control.

It starts with macarons.

Calculus has just ended. 

I stay seated, trading crypto on my phone. It’s what I usually do after class. It's calming and profitable.

The numbers fall seamlessly into place, the graph patterns morph, telling me when to trade.  One million USD and some change, still climbing.

Students are standing from their seats, talking, leaving in trickles when a courier appears at the lecture hall door. He’s carrying an elegant, cream box. 

“Delivery for Jay Han!” He announces.

The room goes quiet. All eyes turn to where I’m seated. 

“Over here!” Someone signals, pointing at me. 

The delivery guy grins gratefully and jogs up the steps. “Sign here, please.”

The class whispers as I sign the slip. He hands me the box, tied with black and gold ribbon.

Inside: vanilla mascarpone macarons, custom-made and a card.

You looked like you needed something soft today. — JW

The whispers continue; someone gushes behind me. 

I hadn’t seen him today, but apparently he’d seen me.

I replace the lid and stand up, gathering my things and leaving quickly amidst thirty or so curious eyes watching me. 

I eat one macaroon alone on the rooftop between classes. It melts slowly on my tongue. It’s perfect. 

Damn him!

 Wednesday brings a fountain pen. Matte black. Heavy. Balanced.

For when your thoughts move faster than your mouth. — JW

He is courting me in a language only I understand.

Public enough to be seen. Anonymous enough to deny if needed. 

By Friday, I’m officially the hottest topic on campus. 

Who is JW?
Is it a sponsor?
A Foreign Billionaire?
A scandal?

I maintain a cool exterior. Ignore the dull roar of voices that seems to follow me everywhere, the prying eyes. But inside I’m breaking down. 

I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I didn't notice him approach from the opposite side of the main corridor. 

Shit! It's too late to dodge, and if I do so abruptly, people might guess he was JW. 

I keep walking, looking straight ahead. I try to breathe calmly, willing him not to speak to me.

 We pass by each other close enough for my heart to almost climb out of my chest.  The air hums between us.

He doesn’t look at me first.

He looks past me — perfectly composed, his mask intact.

Then, just before we cross, his gaze flicks to mine. They linger—possessive, measuring—as if he’s counting the seconds until I finally shatter.

No one notices.

Except me. 

The shatter happens at 2:00 PM.

I am at the VIP lounge within the school, hyperaware of the growing noise and the eyes that seem to follow me everywhere. I’m waiting for Dae and Hoon; we’d agreed to have lunch here. More privacy than the main dining area.

“Jay Han?”

I look up. A smartly dressed male courier is standing there, carrying a deep purple box tied with a massive black silk ribbon that looks more like a warning than decoration.

More than a dozen eyes swivel toward me. People smile; girls giggle, I hear gushes. I swallow hard as my skin begins to crawl—the familiar, prickly heat of sensory overload. I sign for it quickly, drop the box on the table, and stare at it with malice, as if I could make it disappear by the sheer force of my will.

Dae and Hoon arrive right then.

“Wow! What’s this?” Dae squeals as she slides into the seat opposite me. Hoon follows, clearly trying to hold back a smile.

“I don’t fucking know!” I snap, my nerves already frayed to the breaking point. They exchange a quick look.

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to force myself to calm down. “Everyone’s looking.”

“Calm down, Jay. It’s just a gift, and screw everyone! This is epic for you. Enjoy it!”

That was the thing. It wasn’t just gifts to me. No one had ever done this for me—made me the center of envy and attention. I had been invisible to most, and now people were looking at me, perhaps even thinking I was approachable. I wish I could enjoy this, but I’m not.

“Can I open it?” Dae offers.

“Sure,” I reply with a defeated sigh, feeling completely overwhelmed.

Dae pulls the ribbon and lifts the lid. Inside is a woven black leather bracelet. Clean. Minimal. A slim platinum plate is engraved with my name, and beside it, an identical, empty indentation in the velvet.

A pair.

Hoon whistles, impressed.

In the box is a card, gold-embossed. It reads: For when I can’t walk beside you. — JW

I pick up the bracelet, my fingers trembling. As I turn it over, I see it—a tiny, embedded tracker, seamless against the leather.

“Is that a tracker?” Dae whispers, half-laughing and half-awed. “God, he really wants to keep tabs on you, doesn’t he?”

The room feels like it’s shrinking. Dae’s laughter, the murmurs, the bright fluorescent lights—it all hits me at once. I know the signs of a meltdown all too well. I shut the box and shove it into my bag, standing up abruptly.

“I’ll catch you both later,” I blurt out, heading quickly for the exit. My breath is coming in jagged, shallow hitches.

“Jay, wait!” Dae calls after me.

“Let him go,” Hoon cautions, his voice fading behind me. “He looks like he needs some space.”

Author's Note:

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Thank you for reading and staying with Jay and Jiwon.