It seems that Minho will soon hate art.

"I'm not surprised that the professor reprimanded you for this. They are identical."

He stood next to his friend at the entrance to the art university and smoked a cigarette while studying his sketchbook. Minho is lovesick. Each of his drawings now has your facial features and body curves, as if he has forgotten other types of people. He can't. Minho has never fallen in love so much. There was a huge gap between you that couldn't be bridged. While you are studying at the dance faculty of the university, he's silently drooling over you.

You were described as a slightly naive beauty; you were insanely spoiled, often not understanding some things, but your dancing skills and beauty made fans go crazy; you received gifts from men every day.

Minho sent regularly anonymous flowers to your house from an unknown mr. 'M'. Sometimes, he even hand-picked them himself. Of course, it doesn't compare to what the philosophy teacher gives you, but Minho wanted to meet your needs at least a little, realizing that he would never win you over. Yes, he was so critical. Yes, he has never even spoken to you because he's afraid of spoiling the impression.

"I just don't understand why everything I draw turns out to be her face."

Minho put the sketchbook in his backpack and heard some car approaching. His gaze followed you out of the brand-new cabriolet. Someone gave you a cabriolet. Great.

"Hell..."

Feeling the bitterness of another loss in Minho's voice, his friend put his hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. But it was pointless because Minho's nerves began to lose ground even more when he saw that you were approaching them. Probably for some minor reason, like signing a petition for animal protection, but he absolutely didn't want to talk to you for the first time in such a situation; not in a favorable environment for his candidacy as your partner. But... damn, a cabriolet. What does Minho even hope for?