Eunji woke to the soft light of early morning spilling through the curtains, a peaceful quiet that was almost sacred in its stillness. The world outside was still asleep, and she was allowed a moment to simply be. It was 6:30 AM. The day had not yet begun in earnest, and for a fleeting second, the weight of assignments and deadlines, of exams looming on the horizon, seemed a distant thought.

She stretched beneath her blanket, the coolness of the morning making her shiver slightly. She let herself linger in the bed for a few moments longer, enjoying the brief respite before the rhythm of the day called her. Then, with a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet meeting the cold wooden floor.

The first thing she did was reach for her sketchbook, as she always did. It was her way of grounding herself before everything else began—before the rush of campus, the noise of lectures, and the chaos of group projects. She opened the well-worn leather cover, the pages filled with half-finished ideas and sketches of things she had seen on her walks around campus. A few quick strokes, a few moments of stillness, and she closed it with a soft sigh.

In the bathroom, she washed her face with cool water, letting it wake her up fully. The soft splash of water against her skin felt refreshing, like a simple reset for her thoughts. She ran a towel over her face, looking at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles beneath her eyes from late nights studying, but they didn’t bother her today. Today, she was focused on the small rituals that gave her peace before the day rushed in.

She brushed her teeth, the motion as automatic as breathing, and began to move through the rest of her routine. Her hair—usually unruly—was tamed with a few quick strokes of the brush. It fell in waves, still damp from the night’s sleep, but it would dry in time. Her fingers worked quickly, getting ready without much thought.

She didn’t mind the repetition. The morning was a small world she could control in the midst of everything else. After pulling on her favorite oversized sweater—soft with age and slightly faded from too many washes—she walked to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee was already in the air, the quiet hum of the coffee maker and the only sound in the otherwise still apartment.

Eunji poured herself a cup, black as always, and leaned against the counter, staring out the window. It was a small view of the city—the rooftops, the distant trees—and she had always found comfort in the small details of it. The world was still waking up. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few joggers and the occasional early commuter. The air was cool, carrying the scent of rain from the night before.

She checked her phone briefly, glancing over any messages or reminders, but nothing urgent called for her attention. Just a few texts from her friends, asking about assignments or plans for the weekend. Eunji felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips—her friends had always been a constant, in the way they checked in with each other, in the small moments of shared life.

After finishing her coffee, she moved to gather her things for the day. A notebook for her literature class, her laptop, and the essentials—keys, pens, and a pair of headphones. She had an early class that morning, one she always enjoyed because of the discussions. But there was also the pressure of upcoming exams, group projects, and papers waiting to be written. Still, she felt ready. The quiet of the morning had settled something in her.

As she grabbed her bag and prepared to leave, she looked back at her small apartment, the familiar sight of books stacked on the coffee table, and the art supplies scattered across the desk. This was her space, her world. For now, she was content with it.

The door clicked softly behind her as she stepped into the hallway, the stillness of the morning accompanying her as she made her way to campus. The first light of dawn was stretching over the city now, the air warmer as the day began to take shape. Eunji moved with the flow of other students, but for a moment, she felt detached from it all—the rush, the noise, the pressure. She had her own rhythm, her own quiet world in the midst of it.

And as the campus appeared before her, she was ready to face the day, the world, with that stillness inside her. It was a small victory—one that she would carry through the hours ahead.

Eunji stepped onto campus, the familiar sounds of students bustling about filling the air. The morning had settled into its usual rhythm, and the soft hum of conversations and hurried footsteps greeted her. She adjusted the strap of her bag and began walking toward the cafe near the library, where she usually met Hyeri and Rora before their first class of the day.

As she rounded the corner near the fountain, she spotted them instantly. Hyeri was perched on the edge of a stone bench, one leg crossed over the other, her messy ponytail swaying with each exaggerated motion of her hands as she talked. Rora sat next to her, her arms folded and an amused smile on her face as she listened.

Eunji smiled at the sight of them—her two constants. She quickened her pace, the weight of the day’s demands momentarily lifting at the thought of seeing them.

“Hey, you two,” Eunji called out as she approached.

Hyeri’s head snapped toward her, her eyes lighting up. “Eunji!” she exclaimed, her voice loud enough to make a few nearby students glance over. “You’re here! I thought you were going to skip out on us today!”

Rora, more composed but equally happy to see her, gave a soft wave. “Glad you could make it. We were just talking about the assignment for tomorrow.”

Hyeri groaned at the mention of the assignment. “Don't remind me. That essay on modern art? I swear, I can’t even keep up with half the terms they use. I just make up stuff and hope for the best.” She threw her hands up in mock surrender, leaning back dramatically.

Eunji chuckled and sat down next to them, her bag sliding off her shoulder. “You should at least try, Hyeri. I’m pretty sure ‘making up stuff’ isn’t going to work this time.”

Hyeri grinned. “I’m just going to draw a smiley face and call it ‘expressionism.’ If they don’t get it, that’s their problem.”

Hara rolled her eyes but smiled warmly. “If only life were that simple, right?”

Eunji leaned back against the bench, settling into the comfortable silence between the three of them. There was something reassuring about being with her friends—something that didn’t require explanation. They had been through late-night study sessions, coffee runs, and countless moments of laughter, and it was those moments that always brought her back to herself, even when things felt heavy.

“So, Eunji,” Rora began, breaking the quiet. “Have you thought more about that art exhibit we mentioned last week? The one at the gallery downtown?”

Eunji had forgotten about it for a moment, but now the thought of it stirred something in her. The idea of seeing her art displayed in a gallery—of her work being appreciated beyond the walls of her tiny studio—was both thrilling and terrifying. “I’ve been meaning to, but... I’m not sure if I’m ready yet.”

Hyeri nudged her shoulder. “You’re always ‘not sure.’ I get it, though. But, seriously, you should just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Eunji smiled, appreciating the encouragement, even if the fear still lingered. “I’ll think about it,” she said, her voice quieter now, more reflective.

The conversation shifted as they discussed other classes, plans for the weekend, and the usual mix of minor campus drama. The morning passed quickly in their easy chatter, and as the bell rang, signaling the start of their first class, they all stood up together.

Eunji slung her bag over her shoulder, as they began walking toward the lecture hall.

Eunji smiles, feeling the weight of the day ahead becomes just a little bit more bearable with her friends by her side. For now, she was ready to face whatever came next.

As the trio made their way toward the lecture hall, the crisp spring air carried the scent of fresh blooms from the garden near the faculty building. The sky was a gentle blue, clouds drifting lazily overhead, and Eunji felt a strange sense of calm wash over her.

Their footsteps echoed in the hallway as they entered the building, mingling with the buzz of students filing into classrooms. As they climbed the stairs to the third floor, her fingers brushed against the edge of the sketchbook tucked beneath her arm. It was nearly full—pages crammed with drawings, ideas, splashes of color that she hadn't dared to share with anyone beyond her professor.

The art room was already half full when they arrived. Easels lined the walls, and the scent of turpentine and charcoal lingered in the air. She nodded to a few classmates and made her way to her usual spot by the windows.

Professor Kang, an older woman with short-cropped gray hair and a sharp eye for detail, was setting up at the front. "Morning, everyone," she said, not bothering to wait for silence. "Today, we're doing something a little different. I want each of you to pick one piece—just one—and talk us through it. What it means. Why you made it. Where it came from. No hiding behind vague metaphors this time."

There was a quiet murmur of groans and nervous laughter across the room, but Eunji felt her heart skip. One piece? She flipped through her sketchbook, pages blurring past until her eyes landed on one she hadn’t looked at in weeks.

It was a charcoal sketch—minimalist, raw. A girl sitting alone at a cafe table, her hands folded tightly in her lap, surrounded by a blur of empty chairs and ghostly outlines of passersby. It wasn’t perfect. In fact, she’d never intended to show it to anyone. But somehow, it captured something real—something true.

Her name was called third. She stood, sketchbook in hand, and walked to the front of the room. The moment felt stretched thin, her pulse echoing in her ears. She clipped the sketch to the board and turned to face the class.

“This piece…” She paused, surprised at how tight her throat felt. “It’s about feeling like you’re surrounded, but still alone. About being somewhere familiar but not quite belonging.”

She could see a few students nodding, even Professor Kang’s expression softened slightly.

“I didn’t plan it. I just… drew how I felt that day. I guess I wasn’t really thinking about meaning. It just came out.”

Silence followed, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that held weight. That held respect.

“Thank you, Eunji,” the professor finally said. “That’s exactly what I was looking for.”

Eunji returned to her seat, her chest still tight, but this time with something that felt close to relief. Maybe even pride.

After class, as she packed up her things, one of the students—Jiho, a soft-spoken guy who usually kept to himself—approached her.

“I really liked your piece,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice was soft, but there was sincerity in it. “It felt… honest.”

Eunji blinked, caught off guard. “Thanks. That means a lot,” she said, her cheeks warm.

Jiho gave a small smile. “If you ever do decide to submit to that gallery downtown, let me know. I’m showing some of my stuff there next month.”

Her interest piqued, Eunji glanced up at him. “You’re showing at a gallery?”

He nodded, a little sheepish. “Yeah. I’ve been working on it for a while, but this is my first real exhibit. It’s nothing big, but... it’s something.”

“That’s amazing,” she said, a little in awe. “I didn’t know you were into—well, into art like that.”

Jiho shrugged, looking down at his shoes briefly. “Yeah, I don’t talk about it much. But I’ve been drawing since I was a kid. Just never really... shared it.”

Eunji smiled, something warm stirring in her chest. She’d always admired how Jiho, despite being quiet, had his own little world that he didn’t need to broadcast. It was a little like her—more comfortable in the background, creating but not often showing.

“Well, that’s great. I’m sure your work will be amazing,” she said, zipping up her bag.

“Thanks,” Jiho said, then hesitated again. “And if you change your mind about submitting to the gallery, you know, let me know. I think your stuff would fit right in.”

Eunji nodded, something stirring in her again. That same fluttering thought. Maybe.

As she stepped out of the building, the sun was still warm on her face. She pulled out her phone and texted Hyeri and Rora.

Eunji:

Maybe that gallery exhibit isn’t such a bad idea after all.

She hit send, and for the first time in a long while, the idea of putting herself out there didn’t feel so terrifying. It felt like the beginning of something new.