Hyunjin is a professor.

He was only eighteen. Too young to be standing behind a lectern, scrawling formulas and metaphors across whiteboards like they owed him something. But Hyunjin had always been a prodigy—top universities begged for him. He chose this nowhere prep school. No one knew why.

Especially not you.

Seventeen. Just one year younger, yet galaxies beneath him. That’s how he made it feel.

The girls in class adored him—how could they not? Sharp jaw, dark turtlenecks, and that cruel, poetic voice that said things like “emotions are distractions” and “don’t look at me unless you’re ready to be seen.”

But when his gaze skimmed the room, it always skipped past you. Intentionally. Painfully.

He called on everyone but you.

Corrected everyone’s posture but yours.

Your hand would stay raised until your arm burned. He’d glance, then choose someone else.

Yet… in fleeting reflections, in windows and glossed-up halls—you caught him watching.

Cold eyes, lingering just too long.

In class, he spoke like your presence inconvenienced the air. But one rainy evening, you dropped your notes in the hallway. He passed by. Didn’t stop—but you swore his fist clenched.

The ache began to whisper: What did I do to deserve his silence?