Taehyun blinked, the question lingering in the air like a spark about to catch flame.
> "Did Arianna tell you to follow me?"
He looked at her, startled. "What? No. Why would she—?"
Ara crossed her arms, her body tense, chin slightly raised in defense.
> "She's popular. You're close. And I don't know…" she shrugged, eyes looking anywhere but his. "Sometimes… that kind of popularity turns into power."
He furrowed his brow. "Power to do what?"
> "To play games," Ara said tightly. "To push people around. Subtly. Quietly. The kind of bullying that wears a nice dress and never leaves proof."
Taehyun stared at her. "Ara... what are you saying?"
> "Nothing," she snapped too quickly. "Just thoughts. I don't know what kind of person Arianna is now. Maybe she's changed. Maybe I'm wrong."
> "Then why do you think she'd tell me to care about you?"
The question made her flinch inwardly.
Ara's jaw locked. Her fingers curled tighter around her sleeves, the words she shouldn't say piling behind her teeth like a dam about to break.
> "I don't know," she said coldly. "Maybe I just hate the way you act like you care."
Taehyun's face shifted—like her words had caught him off guard.
> "You hate it?"
> "Yes," she bit back, eyes flashing. "You show up, play hero, say all the right words… but you don't know me. You don't know anything about me. So why the hell are you acting like you care?"
> "Because I do care."
> "You can't. You shouldn't."
Her voice cracked slightly at the edge, and she hated that more than anything.
> "Why not?" he asked, softer now. "Why is it so impossible for someone to care about you?"
> "Because when people pretend to care, they get close. And when they get close, they get cruel."
Silence fell between them, heavy and sharp.
Ara looked away, eyes suddenly glassy under the streetlight glow.
> "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for you to follow me or catch me when I fall. So stop doing it. Stop trying to be something to me."
Taehyun didn't move. Didn't speak.
He just stood there, still as the cold night air, hands in his coat pockets.
But his voice, when it came, was quiet and wounded.
> "I'm not pretending."
Ara didn't reply.
She turned again—toward her gate, toward her sanctuary—and this time, she didn't look back.
And Taehyun… didn't follow.
Not this time.
He just stood there, under the faded glow of the streetlamp, watching her walk away.
Not as a hero. Not as a friend. Just… someone who didn't know where the line between "caring" and "crossing boundaries" really was anymore.
Ara closed the gate behind her with a soft click, her hands trembling slightly on the latch. She stood there for a moment, staring at the iron bars like they might shield her from everything waiting outside.
Her breath hitched.
Why did she say that?
Why did she snap?
Why did he look like that when she did?
> "Damn it…" she muttered, pressing her forehead against the cold gate for a second.
She didn't mean to lash out. Not really.
But the moment Arianna's name passed his lips, it felt like a match lit in her chest.
That familiar burn. The old wound.
And then he had the audacity to look at her like he was the one hurt.
Ara's throat tightened.
Inside, the hallway lights were dim. She didn't bother turning on the others as she kicked off her shoes and slipped into her room. The familiar shadows wrapped around her like old friends—comforting in their silence.
She sat on the edge of her bed, exhaling slowly.
Her fingers curled into the comforter.
> "I hate this."
She wasn't sure if she meant the confusion. Or Taehyun's eyes. Or the way her past kept crashing into her present no matter how hard she tried to shut the door.
Arianna.
It always came back to her.
They weren't always enemies. There was a time, brief and bright like a spark, when Arianna had been warm. Kind, even. Ara remembered pinkie promises and shared candies, laughter behind notebooks, whispered secrets at lunch.
But then came the audition in 2014.
The modeling contest that changed everything.
Arianna changed after that.
The smiles became sharp. The kindness, calculated. And Ara—who hadn't even wanted the spotlight—became the target of every passive-aggressive whisper in the room.
The betrayal still tasted bitter.
And now, Taehyun. With his easy smile. With his confusing kindness. With his timing that couldn't possibly be coincidence.
> "Why now?" she whispered.
Why him? Why her?
Why this tangled web of almost-truths and half-felt warmth when all she wanted was distance?
Ara flopped backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers.
But all she saw were memories flickering across it like old film:
Arianna's smile turning cruel. Taehyun's voice saying, "Because I care." And the sound of her own heartbeat—loud, uncertain, and painfully alive.
She shut her eyes.
Pulled the blanket over her face.
And whispered,
> "I don't want to care back."
The blanket muffled the outside world, but not the voices in Ara's head.
She lay there, trying to will her mind into silence.
It didn't work.
Arianna's name kept echoing.
And Taehyun's, like a shadow beneath it.
Her eyes burned.
> "You're not going to cry," she told herself sharply. "You're fine. You've always been fine."
But the ache inside said otherwise.
Her fingers, still cold, clutched the blanket tighter.
And then—
She let herself fall.
Not in reality.
But back.
Back to middle school.
Back to where it all started.
---
[FLASHBACK – 2014]
The auditorium was buzzing. A cheap banner reading "Youth Star Model 2014 – School Round" hung across the stage. The air smelled of hairspray and nervous sweat.
Ara sat on the edge of a bench, fingers clenched around a number tag.
#14
She hadn't signed up.
She never would've.
But Arianna had smiled so brightly that day. She had tugged Ara by the wrist, whispering "Let's do it together. Just for fun. I'll feel braver if you're there."
And Ara—stupid, hopeful, young—had said yes.
She remembered standing backstage, shaking in her too-tall shoes, cheeks flushed under makeup she wasn't used to.
Arianna had been behind her, adjusting her collar with a fond grin.
> "You're going to do amazing," Arianna had whispered. "You're prettier than you think."
That one sentence had felt like sunshine.
Until the results came out.
Ara had won.
Arianna hadn't.
And from that day on… everything changed.
The rumors started slow. Innocent.
"She probably cheated."
"She only won because she cried backstage—such a pity vote."
"I heard she stole Arianna's concept."
They spread like wildfire.
And Ara had turned to Arianna, hoping—praying—she would shut them down.
But Arianna never did.
She just smiled. Perfect, polite, untouchable.
And the kindness in her eyes?
Gone.
Ara remembered walking into class one morning, only to find her desk covered in torn photos from the contest. Her face scratched out.
And in the back of the room, Arianna had just laughed softly with her friends, eyes flicking toward Ara like she was nothing more than dust.
---
[BACK TO PRESENT]
Ara sat up sharply in bed, gasping like she'd surfaced from drowning.
Her throat was tight.
The bitterness clawed back into her mouth.
> "That's why," she whispered aloud, trembling.
That's why she couldn't trust Taehyun's kindness.
Because Arianna had once been kind too.
And when that kindness turned cold—it had nearly destroyed her.
---
Outside her window, the street was quiet.
But across the campus, somewhere not too far—
Taehyun probably still didn't understand.
He didn't know what Arianna was capable of.
And he didn't know how it felt to be chosen as a target by someone who once held your hand like a best friend.
Ara lay back again, pulling the blanket over her head like a shield.
> "He doesn't get it," she muttered.
> "No one does."
But…
A small voice inside whispered:
> "Then why did you look for him when you panicked?"
And that was the most terrifying thought of all.
[Scene – Next Morning, University Campus]
The sun was too bright.
Ara squinted beneath her hoodie, her head lowered as she walked past the morning crowd on campus. Her headphones were in—but no music played. She just didn't want anyone talking to her.
Not today.
Not when her chest still felt tight from last night.
Her steps were automatic, taking her toward the art building. Familiar. Safe. Predictable.
She hadn't answered Taehyun's offer about lunch.
Not that she needed to. She thought she made it clear—she didn't want anything from him. Not friendship. Not kindness. Not those soft, quiet glances he kept giving her like he was trying to understand.
She reached her classroom early. Almost no one there yet.
Good.
She sat in the back corner, where the sunlight barely touched the desk. Her fingers tapped nervously on the wooden surface. Her sketchbook sat in front of her, closed. Still blank.
The weight of it was unbearable.
And still... her mind whispered:
> "Arianna. Taehyun. That café. That smile."
She scowled.
> "It's none of my business," she muttered under her breath, curling her fists in her lap.
But it felt like her business.
It felt personal, even if she refused to admit why.
---
[Later – Campus Courtyard]
Lunchtime.
The university buzzed with life—students sprawled across benches and lawns, laughter spilling through the air.
Ara walked quickly, clutching her sketchbook like a shield. She didn't know where she was going—just not to the café. Not to the usual art spots. Not anywhere he might expect her.
Then she saw him.
Across the courtyard, near a shaded bench under the cherry tree.
Taehyun.
Leaning back casually, one leg crossed over the other, a drink in one hand and a sketchpad in the other. Sketchpad?
She paused, heart skipping.
He wasn't even looking around for her. He looked focused. Calm. Just... drawing.
But then—
His eyes flicked up.
Caught her.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Ara's breath caught in her throat. She thought of walking away.
But something about the way he didn't smile—just looked—stopped her.
No teasing today.
No smirk.
Just... that quiet stillness again.
Like he knew she wouldn't come closer.
Like he was giving her space—and yet not leaving.
That made her legs feel unsteady.
So she turned away.
Walked past him.
Didn't say a word.
---
[Scene – Art Studio, Late Afternoon]
The room was empty.
Golden hour light poured in through the large windows, turning dust particles into floating embers in the air.
Ara sat in front of a blank canvas.
For the first time in weeks, her fingers moved.
Not with control.
Not with intent.
Just raw movement.
Angry lines. Sharp angles. Shapes that weren't shapes. Emotion in color.
Her brush dragged across the page like she was fighting it—like she was trying to force the confusion out of her chest and into something she could look at.
She didn't know how long she painted. Didn't care.
And when she finally stopped, breath shaky, she looked down.
It wasn't a person.
It wasn't even clear.
But somehow, it looked like both distance and nearness.
Like two figures trying to reach each other through fog.
She stared at it, something in her throat tightening.
[Scene – Art Studio, Just After Sunset]
The studio had gone quiet again. Most students had filtered out with the fading light, the hallway beyond dim now, shadows stretched long across the walls.
Ara sat in front of her painting, the brush limp in her fingers.
The canvas stared back—those smeared, urgent strokes still wet.
Two shapes, undefined, reaching across a space that refused to close.
She hated how vulnerable it looked.
She hated that it looked like her.
She stood, about to clean up, when—
A quiet voice behind her.
> "You paint like you're bleeding."
Her breath caught.
She turned. Slowly.
Taehyun stood in the doorway. Hair slightly messy. A sketchpad tucked under one arm.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't teasing.
Just... standing there. Watching her. As if afraid to come any closer.
Ara didn't say anything. She stepped in front of the painting like a shield.
> "Why are you here?" Her voice was cool, even—but her eyes were sharp. Tired.
Taehyun didn't move.
> "I wasn't looking for you," he said quietly. "I was just walking. Saw the light on. Recognized your shoes."
She blinked.
> "My what?"
> "Your shoes," he said, glancing down. "The blue paint stain on the right sole. You wear them all the time."
A beat of silence.
Her mouth opened. Then shut.
She hated how observant he was. It felt like exposure.
She crossed her arms.
> "Still sounds like following."
> "It wasn't."
He paused.
"But if you want me to go, I will."
That... took her off guard.
She expected another sarcastic remark, a charming deflection. Not this quiet tone. Not this... patience.
She looked away.
The painting behind her felt heavy.
> "You still didn't answer yesterday," Taehyun said softly. "Why you think Arianna would put me up to anything."
Ara's spine stiffened.
There it was.
She'd hoped he would forget.
> "It doesn't matter," she muttered.
> "It does. Because I keep thinking about it."
She turned, irritation flaring.
> "Why? Why does it matter to you? You don't know me, remember? You said it yourself. No five-year contract. No blood oath. So why keep acting like you care?"
Taehyun looked at her for a long moment. Then said, almost cautiously—
> "Is it so strange... that someone might care even if they don't fully understand you yet?"
She hated how steady his voice was. Hated how her throat tightened again.
She didn't respond.
He took a slow step closer—but still kept his distance.
> "I don't know what Arianna did to you," he said gently. "But I'm not her. And I'm not playing some game."
Ara's lips parted—but no words came.
So instead, she turned away again. Her gaze landed on the painting.
> "She wasn't always awful," she whispered. "There was a time she... used to protect me. Before it all changed."
Taehyun said nothing.
She didn't mean to say it. The words just spilled out.
> "I trusted her. I thought I mattered to her. And then... that year, 2014... the modeling contest—she humiliated me. Publicly. Like I was nothing."
Her voice cracked despite herself.
Taehyun's breath caught—but he didn't interrupt. He just... stood there.
Letting her speak.
> "That day, she looked at me like I was trash. Like I was disposable. And everyone laughed. I don't think I've ever felt so—"
She stopped. Bit the inside of her cheek.
"Forget it."
Another silence.
Then Taehyun spoke, voice low.
> "I won't pretend I understand what that felt like. But I do know what betrayal looks like."
She glanced at him.
> "Do you?"
> "Yeah," he said simply. "And I know what it's like to never want to let anyone close again, because what if they leave you bleeding too?"
Something in her cracked open.
Just a little.
Just enough to keep standing.
But not enough to let him in.
> "I don't want your pity," she said quietly.
> "It's not pity," he said. "It's respect."
She looked at him—really looked this time.
He wasn't trying to fix her.
He wasn't trying to force her to talk.
He was just... there.
Like a calm presence beside a storm.
Her voice barely audible now.
> "I don't know if I can ever trust again."
Taehyun nodded.
> "Then don't. Not yet. Just keep walking beside people. That's enough."
Ara swallowed hard.
Her eyes flicked to her painting again. The figures. The distance.
Maybe it wasn't about reaching.
Maybe it was just about being seen trying to.
She turned her back to the painting at last. Gaze settling on him.
Not a smile.
Not warmth.
Just something quieter.
A breath between two wounded people.
> "...Do you still want lunch tomorrow?"
Taehyun tilted his head, a flicker of something like surprise. Then—
> "Yeah," he said softly. "I do."