Namra walked into school that morning, her expression as unreadable as ever. The past few days had been a blur—too much time spent in her own head, too much silence, too many thoughts looping endlessly.

But today, she was here. And she was trying.

She spotted Sooheon at his usual spot near the back staircase, leaning against the railing, his bag lazily slung over one shoulder. A few students passed by, chatting loudly, but he didn’t pay them any mind.

Namra hesitated for only a second before making her way toward him. Back to normal. That was the goal.

As she approached, Sooheon glanced up, his sharp eyes landing on her. A beat of silence passed before he smirked.

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

Namra exhaled through her nose. “I was here yesterday.”

“Barely.” Sooheon shifted, turning fully toward her. “You were a ghost all week.”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she leaned against the wall beside him, her gaze fixed ahead. “I’ve been busy.”

Sooheon hummed, unconvinced. “Too busy to even talk?”

Namra didn’t answer right away. She had never been good at explaining herself, and she wasn’t about to start now. But this—standing here, talking to him—was her way of fixing it.

Sooheon sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “I was starting to think you got sick of me.”

Namra glanced at him, her voice flat but honest. “No.”

A slow grin tugged at Sooheon’s lips. “That almost sounded like you missed me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Sooheon chuckled, nudging her arm lightly. It was brief—so quick that anyone watching might not have even noticed—but Namra felt it.

“Well,” he said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder, “since you’re back from the dead, want to grab lunch later?”

Namra thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

Sooheon smirked. “That was easy.”

“Would you rather I say no?”

“Nah.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “I like it better when you just agree.”

Namra gave him a look, but before she could say anything else, the bell rang.

Sooheon clicked his tongue. “Guess that’s our cue.”

She pushed off the wall, falling into step beside him as they made their way inside.

It wasn’t anything special. Just them. Just normal. And somehow, that was enough.

---

The classroom was quiet except for the teacher’s voice, droning on about ancient civilizations and their influence on modern society. Most students were half-listening, some scribbling in their notebooks, others trying to hide their phones beneath the desks.

Namra sat in the front, as always, her pen moving quickly across the page as she meticulously took notes. She had always been someone who preferred structure, a mind that craved clarity and order. History was just another puzzle to piece together.

Her eyes occasionally flicked toward Sooheon. He sat a few rows ahead of her, his posture casual as ever. His notebook lay open, but the pages were blank—completely untouched. Instead, he was leaning back in his chair, one hand behind his head, eyes unfocused as they wandered toward the window.

Namra’s brows furrowed slightly. She couldn’t help but wonder. How does he do it?

Sooheon didn’t seem to care about anything in class, yet when it came to tests and assignments, he aced them with minimal effort. It wasn’t that he was unintelligent, quite the opposite. He understood things almost instantly, absorbing information with little effort, as if it was second nature to him.

She, on the other hand, had to work for every piece of knowledge. She studied, took notes, revisited the material—always trying to get everything just right. It was a habit she had honed over the years.

The teacher suddenly called out, “Sooheon, can you tell us about the impact of the war we just discussed?”

Namra watched him closely. She expected him to stumble, to be caught off guard. But instead, he simply glanced toward the front of the class and answered with ease.

“It led to economic instability and paved the way for the next conflict.”

The teacher nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response, while Sooheon returned to his relaxed stance, as though he hadn’t just been asked a question.

Namra couldn’t help but blink in surprise.

He just knows it.

It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t even laziness. It was just the way Sooheon moved through the world—effortless. And somehow, it made sense. He could take in everything, absorb it without the need to force it, while she constantly felt like she had to earn it.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it?

Sooheon seemed to understand her without even trying. He could finish her sentences, guess what she was thinking, or even tell her exactly what she needed without her having to say a word. He just knew.

But when it came to him—she couldn’t quite figure him out.

Namra’s fingers paused on her notebook as she stared down at the words she had written. She understood how to study, how to analyze, how to get the right answers. But when it came to Sooheon, she was left with more questions than answers.

It felt strange, and maybe a little frustrating. She could analyze and predict everything about her life, about the subjects she cared for, but when it came to him, she couldn’t figure it out.

Namra’s gaze drifted back to Sooheon as he stretched, yawning lazily. She didn’t envy him—not at all—but she couldn’t help but wonder, why did he always seem to know exactly what to do?

Was it possible that she, who prided herself on understanding everything around her, had completely missed the mark when it came to the one person she thought she had the most experience with?

It was strange. Maybe even humbling. And as she returned to her notes, the question lingered in her mind.