Han Jin’s Games

Bela had dealt with plenty of difficult people in her life.

But Han Jin wasn’t just difficult — he was impossible.

And somehow, impossibly… fascinating.

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It started with a dare.

A group of upperclassmen were playing truth or dare on the quad lawn. Bela had only walked by to drop off her art materials. She didn’t plan to stay.

But someone shouted her name.

"New girl! Bela!"

Of course it was Han Jin.

He sat like he ruled the lawn, sunglasses on despite the setting sun, leaning back on his elbows while others hovered like planets around him.

"Truth or dare?" he asked, a smirk playing at his lips.

She raised an eyebrow. “Neither. I’m not a puppet.”

“Ooh,” the group teased.

Han Jin didn’t laugh. He just stared at her. “Didn’t think you'd scare that easily.”

Bela turned, walking away with her head high.

But not before muttering, “Try harder next time.”

For once, he had no comeback.

---

Later that night, it rained. Hard.

Bela was stranded outside the library, jacket over her head, drenched.

She was already frustrated — her umbrella had snapped, her phone was dead, and the security doors to the dorms were locked for the night.

A black Mercedes pulled up beside her.

The window rolled down.

Of course — Han Jin.

“You look like a wet sock,” he said dryly.

“And you look like someone I’m not getting in the car with.”

He leaned his head out. Rain dampened his perfect hair. “You’re shivering.”

She didn’t move.

Then, quieter, he added, “Get in. I won’t talk. I swear.”

---

Inside the car, silence filled the space — thick, uneasy.

She rubbed her arms. He didn’t look at her.

“I’m not like them,” he said finally.

“Like who?”

“The ones who think you're fragile because you smile too much.”

She looked at him. “You don’t even know me.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I see more than I say. And you… you hide behind your art.”

She blinked. He wasn’t wrong.

“And you,” she said, “hide behind your sarcasm and cars and sunglasses at dusk.”

He glanced at her — then, for the first time, actually laughed.

It wasn’t cruel. It was soft. Real.

---

He dropped her at the dorms and said nothing.

But before she closed the door, he called out, “Your art… it makes me feel like I’m bleeding.”

She paused. “Bleeding’s not usually a compliment.”

Han Jin looked down.

“It is when you’ve been numb your whole life.”

---

The next day, in the studio, Bela found a new canvas tucked in the corner.

A mess of chaotic color — reds, blacks, violent brushstrokes — pain, confusion, rage.

No note. But she knew it was from him.

She stared at it for a long time… then added a soft blue swirl through the center. Her own touch. Her way of saying, I see you too.

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Journal Entry: Day Seven

> Han Jin is like a thunderstorm.

Loud. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

But sometimes, after the storm, the sky glows softer than before.

Maybe that’s what he is. Not just the storm.

But the sky afterward.

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