Nobody here knew me.

That was the only thought keeping me in my seat.

New country. New university. New faces. Hundreds of strangers packed into the same lecture theatre, and not one of them knew what I had left behind in Seoul.

If I was lucky, no one ever would.

“Welcome to our new students, and welcome back to those of you returning for another year. I’m your course leader, Mr Donovan.”

The tall man at the front of the lecture theatre paused, surveying the rows of students. His silver hair was swept neatly away from his face, his navy suit so perfectly pressed that he looked more prepared for a funeral than a university welcome.

“Our university has clear rules. We do not tolerate violence, vandalism, plagiarism, discrimination or abuse of any kind.”

The whispers around me faded. Someone a few rows ahead stopped tapping their pen.

I found myself holding my breath.

Why does my brain always jump straight to the worst possible scenario?

“Anyone who fails to respect those rules may face suspension or expulsion.”

Jesus.

Was this supposed to be a welcome speech or military enrolment?

I understood the point. Give hundreds of young adults freedom and eventually somebody would do something spectacularly stupid.

Still.

Welcome to university. Please don’t commit crimes.

That would’ve been quicker.

“So stay focused on why you’re here. Work hard. Respect one another. And remember that we’re here to support you from today until the day you graduate. Now I think it’s time for me to shut up and let your tutors do the rest. Have a good first day.”

The second he finished, the room came back to life. Chairs scraped against the floor, bags zipped shut, conversations restarted. People who couldn’t possibly have known each other for more than an hour were already laughing together as they disappeared through the doors.

And then there was me.

Still sitting.

I pretended to reorganise my bag while watching everyone else make something so simple look effortless.

Get up.

I did.

Talk to someone.

Two guys were standing near the exit. One said something and the other laughed, throwing an arm around his shoulder as they walked away.

My mouth remained firmly shut.

...I didn’t.

So much for becoming a different person.

Fifteen minutes later, I was lost. Completely, hopelessly lost.

“G506,” I muttered, staring at yet another classroom number that was definitely not G506.

I checked my watch, then checked it again ten seconds later, as though time might have taken pity on me and started moving backwards.

It hadn’t.

Fifteen minutes late. Fantastic.

All because asking someone for directions apparently required a level of courage I didn’t possess.

I climbed another staircase, scanning every sign I passed. On the university website everything had looked simple: modern building, impressive facilities, smiling students with laptops.

Nobody had mentioned the endless identical corridors.

Or the possibility of dying alone while searching for room G506.

“Unbelievable.”

Other students could move countries, make friends and find their classrooms without having an existential crisis.

I couldn’t ask a stranger for directions.

Grow up, Chin Mae.

I quickened my pace, turned down another corridor—

—and stopped.

A glass wall stretched from floor to ceiling beside me.

Beyond it, the city unfolded beneath a heavy September sky. Grey buildings crowded against one another while traffic crawled through narrow streets below. People hurried along the pavements, all of them apparently knowing exactly where they were going.

Lucky them.

There wasn’t a patch of green for what felt like miles. Thick clouds swallowed most of the morning light, leaving the city washed in silver and blue.

I moved closer.

The glass was cold beneath my fingertips. My reflection floated over the city—pale face, tired eyes, dark hair I’d barely bothered fixing.

For a moment, I looked almost transparent.

Like I wasn’t really there.

Maybe that was what I’d wanted.

Somewhere far enough away that I could become someone else.

Seoul was hundreds of miles behind me now.

So was that house.

So was she.

My stomach tightened.

Had she found the note yet?

Of course she had.

I pictured it exactly where I’d left it on the table. It had taken nearly an hour to write because every sentence felt wrong.

Too cruel. Too apologetic. Too honest.

Not honest enough.

Had she cried when she read it? Become angry? Reached for her phone and called me?

She probably had.

She just hadn’t been able to reach me.

I’d blocked her number before the plane took off. I told myself it was necessary because I knew exactly what one glimpse of her name on my screen could do.

One call.

One moment of weakness.

And maybe I would’ve gone back.

Back to that house.

Back to her.

Back to him.

My throat tightened.

Especially him.

I closed my eyes.

A voice. A room. His face too close to mine.

That feeling in my stomach I’d spent far too long pretending wasn’t there.

My eyes snapped open.

No.

How much longer could I have lived like that? Pretending everything was normal. Pretending I didn’t know what he and I were doing behind her back.

Even if—

No.

Don’t.

I wasn’t there anymore.

That life was over.

It had to be.

“Hey.”

A hand closed around my arm.

My entire body locked.

“Are you lost?”

The voice was deep. Male.

And unmistakably Asian.

For one stupid second, something inside me relaxed at the familiar accent.

Then fear crashed into it.

I spun around.

A stranger stood behind me. Young, probably my age, with black hair and dark eyes.

A face I had never seen before.

Thank God.

His gaze dropped to his hand around my arm. He released me immediately.

“Sorry.”

I stepped back.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

But he didn’t need to know that.

Up close, I became annoyingly aware of how attractive he was. His hair was almost blue where the grey daylight caught it, shaved neatly at the sides and longer on top. Sharp features, warm-toned skin, dark brown eyes fixed directly on me.

I looked away first.

Of course I did.

“I’m looking for G506,” I said. “I thought it was on this floor because it’s the only one I haven’t checked, but—”

My English abandoned me halfway through the sentence.

Brilliant.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“The tutor sent me to find you.”

I blinked. “What?”

“She thought you might be lost.” His smile widened. “Like a puppy.”

I stared at him.

He laughed quietly.

Not mocking exactly.

Worse.

Amused.

“We’re on the same course, Chin Mae.”

My stomach dropped.

“How do you know my—”

He pointed at my chest.

The badge.

Right.

I looked down at the plastic card hanging around my neck.

I already hated the stupid thing.

When I looked back up, he’d started walking away.

“Come on.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unless you want to spend the rest of your first day exploring staircases.”

I hesitated.

There was something irritatingly easy about him. The way he spoke, smiled, moved. He seemed completely comfortable taking up space.

Exactly the kind of person I didn’t understand.

“You coming?”

I followed.

What other choice did I have?

Our footsteps were muffled by the carpet. I stayed half a step behind him, which had the unfortunate advantage of letting me study him without getting caught.

Broad shoulders. Slightly taller than me. Dark shirt fitting closely enough across his back to make me notice things I had absolutely no reason to be noticing.

My gaze travelled lower.

I immediately looked at the wall.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Three seconds later, I looked again.

His hair.

I was looking at his hair.

Definitely his hair.

Everything about him seemed put together. The haircut. The clothes. The expensive-looking watch around his wrist.

Spoiled rich kid.

The conclusion arrived with absolutely no evidence.

Strict wealthy family. Good schools. Excellent grades. Probably sent overseas to collect an impressive degree while finally escaping his parents.

I almost smiled.

Listen to yourself.

I’d known him for three minutes and had already written his biography.

“Where are you from?”

He’d slowed down and was walking beside me now.

“Seoul.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“I thought you were Japanese.”

“Why?”

He hesitated.

“Your accent.”

“My accent?”

“A little.”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking less confident. Then his eyes met mine again and a small smile tugged at his mouth.

“It’s cute.”

I stopped.

Such an ordinary word.

But something about the softness in his voice made my stomach drop.

The corridor suddenly felt too narrow.

A second ago I could hear our footsteps and the distant murmur of students below us.

Now all I could hear was my heartbeat.

Once.

Twice.

Harder.

My fingertips turned cold.

No.

I knew this feeling.

Not here.

My fingers curled into the fabric over my chest.

Not now.

Not again.

His smile disappeared.

“Hey. Chin Mae?”

My pulse raced. Sweat gathered beneath my shirt despite the cold crawling across my skin.

He approached more slowly this time.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His eyebrows drew together. “You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m—”

He reached towards my hand.

I jerked away.

He froze.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

The words made everything worse.

“I know.”

Except my body apparently didn’t.

I forced air into my lungs and focused on something real.

The glass. The carpet. The lights.

Anything.

Nobody here knows me.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know you.

“You look like you’re going to faint,” he said quietly. “Do you want some air?”

Despite everything, I almost laughed.

“Air?”

“Fresh air.”

“We’re indoors.”

His mouth twitched. “That is generally why we’d have to go outside.”

I stared at him.

He grinned.

Somehow, the stupidity of the exchange loosened something in my chest.

Only slightly.

But enough.

“No. I just need to get to class.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Jet lag?”

“Probably.”

A lie.

But an easy one.

He studied my face for another second. I hated how closely he looked.

I hated even more that part of me wanted to look back.

Then he nodded. “Okay.”

I started walking.

“Wait.”

I turned—

—and walked straight into him.

His hands caught me before I could lose my balance.

For half a second, our bodies collided.

Warmth.

His chest against mine. His fingers tightening around my sleeves. The faint scent of something clean and woody.

Too close.

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

I pushed away.

“Don’t.”

His hands lifted immediately.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to touch me.”

The words came out colder than I intended.

Something flickered across his face.

“I caught you.”

“I know.”

“You were falling.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Great.

First day of university and I’d already made things weird with the only person who had bothered talking to me.

But I couldn’t apologise while my hands were still trembling.

“Just...” I swallowed. “Don’t touch me.”

His gaze dropped to my hands before returning to my face.

“Okay.”

No joke. No argument.

Just okay.

For some reason, that made me feel worse.

I turned away.

“You’re strange, Chin Mae.”

I looked back.

He was smiling again, but softer now.

“You’ve known me for five minutes.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve already decided I’m strange?”

“I decided that around minute two.”

A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

His eyes brightened as if he’d accomplished something.

That annoyed me immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“So were you.”

My face heated.

“I wasn’t.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was trying to figure you out.”

“And?”

I looked him over deliberately this time. Perfect hair. Expensive clothes. Broad shoulders. That irritatingly confident expression.

He watched me do it, clearly entertained.

“Still working on it.”

He laughed.

It was a nice laugh.

I hated that too.

Then he extended his hand.

My body tensed automatically.

He noticed.

But instead of touching me, he pointed past my shoulder.

“G506 is that way.”

At the end of the corridor was a sign.

G501–G510 →

I stared at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the sign.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“I walked past this corridor twice.”

His lips pressed together.

“What?”

“I wasn’t going to mention it.”

“You just did.”

“Good point.”

He started walking again.

I followed, reluctantly.

After a few steps, something occurred to me.

“Wait. You know my name.”

“Badge.”

“Yes, I understand how badges work.”

“Congratulations.”

I ignored that. “But I don’t know yours.”

He smiled and kept walking.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“You’re trying to figure me out, remember?”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“And yet you’re following me.”

“Because you know where the classroom is.”

“Whatever helps you sleep tonight.”

I should’ve turned around.

I should’ve stayed as far away from him as possible.

Instead, I followed him.

The strange feeling beneath my ribs followed too.

It wasn’t fear. Fear was sharp, familiar, easy to recognise.

This was quieter.

Curiosity, maybe.

Attraction.

No.

Definitely not that.

Another instinct immediately rose to fight it.

The same one that had been screaming at me for months.

Don’t get involved.

I tightened my grip around my bag.

This was supposed to be a new beginning.

No secrets. No complications. No one getting close enough to discover what I’d left behind.

Especially not some irritating stranger who had managed to make me panic, laugh and stare at him like an idiot within ten minutes.

He stopped outside a classroom and held the door open. Voices spilled into the corridor. Everyone was already seated, and a woman was speaking at the front.

Wonderful.

Now they could all watch me arrive late.

I hesitated.

The stranger noticed.

For once, he didn’t tease me. He simply held the door a little wider.

Then that familiar grin returned.

“There you go, puppy.”

I glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sure.”

His expression told me he absolutely intended to do it again.

I walked past him. Our shoulders almost touched, but he shifted slightly to give me room.

It was such a small gesture that I shouldn’t have noticed it.

But I did.

I looked back.

He was already watching me.

And for the first time since leaving Seoul, I forgot to be afraid.

Only for a second.

But sometimes, a second is enough to ruin everything.