Everyone always said they’d end up in different worlds.
She landed at one of the top academic universities in the country — long reading lists, old buildings, people who spoke about grades like they were currency. Cheong-san went to a sports college on a soccer scholarship — early mornings, endless drills, bruises he shrugged off like they were nothing.
They’d been together since Hyosan. They just learned how to cross cities instead of streets.
Cheong-san is leaning against the fountain railing when she finally gets there, backpack at his feet, eyes already scanning the quad like he’s been counting every second. The moment he sees her, his face changes — easy grin, shoulders loosening.
“There you are,” he says, stepping toward her.
“You’re early,” she says, smiling as she drops her bag. “I told you my class ran late.”
“I know,” he replies. “Didn’t care.”
She laughs and steps into him, arms wrapping around his waist. He hugs her back tight, solid, like he’s grounding himself. For a second, neither of them moves.
“I missed you,” she says into his chest.
He exhales, smiling. “Yeah. Me too.”
She pulls back, looking up at him. “You look tired.”
“Practice,” he says, then adds, “and not seeing you.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re dramatic.”
“A whole week,” he says, mock-serious. “Maybe longer. I was starting to forget what you looked like.”
She snorts, giving his shoulder a light shove. “Oh please. You saw me on FaceTime like two days ago.”
“Doesn’t count,” he says easily, reaching down for his bag. “You’re shorter in real life.”
“Wow,” she says, already turning toward the path back to her dorm. “You come all this way just to insult me.”
He falls into step beside her, bumping her shoulder with his. “You still walked me back anyway.”
They walk together, hands brushing, the campus buzzing around them like background noise.
“So,” she says, nodding toward his bag, “let’s drop your stuff off first before you collapse.”
He glances at her, smiling like the weekend’s already off to a good start.
“Lead the way.”