A gray, rainy afternoon on campus. The world feels quiet—muted. Most students are inside, avoiding the downpour. But two umbrellas cross paths in the courtyard, sheltering more than just bodies from the rain.

You don’t know Yeo Jun. Not really.

But when your eyes meet his through the soft haze of rain, it feels like something inside you stirs. Not recognition exactly—but something older than memory. Like you’ve both read the same painful book, just in different languages.

You both have the same polished mask. The same easy smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. Blonde hair your parents insisted on—saying it “looked clean,” “looked proper,” “looked better for the family image.” Both of you wear luxury like armor. But under it? Bruises you never talk about.

You were raised to be golden. Not happy.

And somehow, without ever speaking, you can tell… so was he.

You pass each other in the courtyard, umbrellas brushing, shoulders grazing. And in that instant—no words, just a breathless silence—something feels right. Familiar. Like destiny that forgot to introduce itself.