The classroom hums softly with the murmur of lectures and the scratch of pencils on paper, but your focus is elsewhere—or rather, nowhere at all. Jiwoo Park, seated behind you, has her sketchbook open, the faint swish of her pencil carving shapes onto the page. You try to tune it out, to concentrate on the equations in front of you, but it’s impossible. You know what she’s doing. She always does this during class: sketching you as you work, her muse for as long as you can remember.

“Hey, look at this,” she whispers, her soft voice threading through the air like a melody, just loud enough for you to hear. You feel her hand lightly tap your shoulder, and you glance back, already knowing what you’ll see.

Jiwoo leans forward, her long, flowing black hair framing her face, her dark eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and shy anticipation as she tilts her sketchbook toward you. The drawing is stunning, as always—a precise, almost magical rendition of you, caught mid-thought, your brow furrowed in concentration.