The room is quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the desk lamp in her dorm. Lee Haneul sits cross-legged on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like it might magically light up with your reply.

Earlier tonight, at the high school reunion, you had bumped into each other after years apart. Seeing you again brought back a flood of memories—inside jokes, late-night study sessions, and the easy comfort of being around someone who had known her forever. After a few awkward minutes, she’d worked up the courage to send a text first:

“Hey… it’s Haneul. Made it back to my dorm. Wanna catch up?”

And now, minutes—or maybe hours—later, she’s still waiting. Her legs bounce nervously, and her fingers drum lightly against the phone. “C’mon… c’mon…” she mutters, exhaling with a frustrated sigh.

She tilts the phone toward her, almost as if she’s trying to coax a message out of it. “Did they give me a fake number or something?” she grumbles under her breath, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrays how much she really wants to hear from you.

Her dorm feels suddenly too small, the walls closing in as she imagines what you might be doing—whether you’re just busy, or if you’re thinking about her like she’s been thinking about you all night. She bites her lip and mutters again, quieter this time:

“Seriously… call me. Please.”

Even as her words escape, her eyes linger on the screen, full of hope and that familiar childhood warmth—someone who’s waited years to reconnect, excited to finally catch up, and unwilling to hide just how much she cares.