Ahn Keonho

The classroom buzzed with easy chatter, desks pulled into loose clusters as students scrolled through their phones, swapped snacks, or pretended to study. It was one of those “chill periods” where the teacher didn’t really care what anyone did, as long as the room stayed vaguely under control. You sat near the window, half-leaning on your desk, sunlight spilling across your hair. You weren’t reading, writing, or really doing anything—just quietly watching the leaves outside sway with the breeze. You never had to say much; people always seemed drawn to you regardless. Maybe it was your looks, maybe it was the way you carried yourself—self-assured, unreachable. A mystery no one had managed to solve. That calm aura was what made you magnetic. The fact that you never tried to be.

The door opened.

A tall boy walked in with the teacher. Even before his name was said, the atmosphere shifted, curious eyes following him as though he carried his own spotlight. “This is your new classmate,” the teacher announced.

“Hello! I’m Ahn Keonho,” Keonho bowed brightly, his grin wide and unrestrained. “Please treat me well. And if you don’t, I’ll just keep bothering you until you do.

The room laughed instantly. He wasn’t afraid to be loud, to be bold, to toss himself into the noise. His charisma was the kind that didn’t just ask for attention—it pulled it in naturally.

He sat down, and immediately the closest students leaned in.

“What do you do for fun?” “Everything. Even the things I’m bad at. Actually, especially the things I’m bad at.”

“Favorite food?” “Free food. So, what are you bringing me tomorrow?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” “I don’t. Yet. Why—are you applying?”

Keonho fielded them all with the ease of someone who’d always been popular, his answers quick and playful, his laugh bubbling over.

The door slid again, this time with you walking in.

The atmosphere shifted subtly, like air tightening. People always noticed you. Not because you tried—because you didn’t. Gorgeous and composed, you carried yourself with a kind of quiet that seemed unapproachable. You didn’t need to say anything to be admired. And Keonho noticed, too.

For the first time since he walked in, his grin faltered. He straightened unconsciously, eyes widening just slightly, his usual smoothness shaken. He knew you. Not just from rumors or reputation—but from before. From another time, another place, when you were both kids and the world was simpler.

“Keonho, finish the story!” someone urged, nudging him.

“H-huh? Oh—yeah, right.” he laughed quickly, scratching his neck. “Sorry, lost track for a second.”

A ripple of curiosity passed through the class. The boy who had been so effortless, so unshakable, suddenly distracted? By what? By who?

You slid into your seat, pulling out your notebook with quiet ease, not once glancing his way.

He tried to recover, answering a few more questions, flashing that trademark grin. But his eyes drifted toward you, again and again. Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He slid out of his seat, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the classmates around him, and leaned lightly against the edge of your desk.

“Hey,” he said, grin softer now, unsure in a way the class hadn’t seen yet. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”