Episode 4: Beneath the Blossoms

Rora adjusted her bag and smiled. “Take care, okay?”

“You too,” Eunji replied softly.

Hyeri gave her a quick wave. “Get home safe, Eunji.”

“I will. You both take care,” she said, waving back as she turned to leave.

The hum of the campus—the sound of students rushing from one class to another—faded into the background as Eunji wandered toward the far end of the university quad, a sketchbook tucked tightly under her arm. After her critique class, she often came here to clear her mind, to breathe. It was her favorite spot on campus: a weathered wooden bench beneath an old cherry blossom tree, tucked just far enough from the main path that most students passed it by.

She settled into the bench, the wood warm beneath her, and let the quiet settle in around her. This place always made her feel like the world slowed just enough for her to catch up.

Opening her sketchbook to a fresh page, she pressed her pencil to the paper and began to draw—lines, shapes, a girl’s outline in the corner of a cafe window, hands folded on the table. Her strokes were confident, methodical. She lost herself in the rhythm, barely noticing the footsteps passing nearby, or the voices of students weaving between classes.

Until the wind picked up.

A sudden breeze swept across the bench, flipping pages and sending a few loose sketches flying from her lap. She gasped softly, reaching out, but one of the pages tumbled further than the rest.

She bent down quickly to retrieve it—and that’s when she saw him.

He was already crouched beside her, one of the sketches in hand. A boy she didn’t recognize—tall, with dark, slightly tousled hair and sharp eyes softened by a kind smile.

“I think this belongs to you,”He said, handing her the stray page, his voice warm and unexpectedly familiar.

She smiled, a little embarrassed, and looked up into his eyes. He wasn’t striking in the way people expected handsome to be—there was no sharp jawline or boyish charm—but there was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence that made her feel like he belonged in her world. Like he’d always been there, waiting for the right moment.

“I—thank you,” she stammered, her fingers brushing as she took the page from him.

In that brief touch, she felt something—unexplainable, fragile. It lingered in the air between them like a delicate thread, weaving their worlds together without either of them realizing.

There was nothing dramatic in the way they met—no cinematic music, no lightning bolt of fate—but the air between them shifted.

"You draw a lot?" he asked, nodding toward her sketchbook.

She nodded, the corners of her lips lifting. “Yeah. It’s kind of the only thing that makes sense when everything else doesn’t.”

He smiled back. “I get that.”

“I’m Seojin, by the way,” he said, offering his hand.

“Eunji.”

Their hands met briefly, and Eunji noticed the quiet confidence in his grip—firm, but not overbearing. The kind of confidence that didn’t need to prove itself.

She tilted her head. “Architecture?”

He laughed. “Nah, business major. I just carry this thing”—he tapped the black portfolio case—“to look more artistic than I really am.”

Eunji raised an eyebrow, amused. “So what’s in it, then? Spreadsheets and bar graphs?”

“Mostly notes,” he said, grinning. “And maybe a few startup ideas no one’s ready for yet.”

She smirked. “Let me guess. Future CEO?”

He nodded without hesitation. “That’s the plan.”

There was something so unapologetic about the way he said it—not arrogant, just certain. It caught her off guard. Most people she knew talked about dreams with disclaimers. He didn’t.

“Well,” she said, flipping her sketchbook closed, “I hope your company makes room for artists. We don’t usually make spreadsheets, but we do see the world differently.”

“That’s exactly why I’d want one on my team,” he said.

The breeze danced between them again, and for a moment, it felt like the campus had gone still. Just the two of them beneath the blossom tree, somewhere between ambition and art, chaos and calm.

Eventually, he glanced at his watch. “I should go. Marketing class waits for no one.”

Eunji smiled. “Good luck, CEO.”

He took a few steps, then turned back. “Do you come here often?”

“Every week.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said with a nod, and then disappeared into the afternoon rush.

Eunji watched him go, her sketchbook resting loosely in her lap. The wind had settled. But something inside her had just started to stir.

Maybe the girl in her drawing wasn’t just waiting anymore.

Maybe something—someone—had just arrived.

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