Lingering Heartbeats
“What? Why are you here?”
Her voice climbed with pure delight. Running into Seung-jo on the Rodeo street in front of campus was anything but ordinary. She knew perfectly well he had a mild streak of fastidiousness and never preferred these messy, crowded stretches of road.
What on earth brought him out? Ever since he’d gotten a girlfriend, contact with him had dried up completely. Bumping into him in such an unexpected place felt like receiving an unlooked-for gift.
“What do you mean, why am I here? Sounds like you’re not happy to see me, Ji-eum.”
Ji-eum jumped. Of course that wasn’t true!
“No, it’s just that you never come around here. But seriously, what’s with the Rodeo?”
“Professor called me out for dinner at Ondam tonight.”
Seung-jo jerked his chin toward the restaurant right in front of them. The faint crease that always appeared between his brows whenever he was put on the spot made Ji-eum nod in understanding. Ever since he’d entered as the top student overall, the professors had kept him under their intense attention and hauled him off to one gathering or another at the drop of a hat.
“Ahh, so you should be heading in now, right?”
She asked brightly, hiding the disappointment.
“I’m already a little late as it is. Better go in.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go on, hurry.”
She was curious how things were going with his girlfriend, why he’d gone silent until the start of the semester, but this didn’t feel like the moment to ask. Ji-eum neatly folded away everything she wanted to say and waved him off. Seung-jo, however, didn’t budge. Narrowing his brows a fraction, he asked,
“But you… you’re going to a department mixer?”
“Huh?”
Ji-eum followed his gaze down to her phone. Yeon-seo’s message from a moment ago was still brightly displayed on the screen.
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to look—it just caught my eye.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just got it, so I’m still thinking it over.”
A soft, brief hum reached her ears.
“Ji-eum.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve always hated that kind of thing. Meeting people artificially.”
When she lifted her head again, worry filled his face—lowered brows, lips pressed firmly together. Even that pitying expression made her heart pound. After all, he was the reason she’d decided to go in the first place. But Seung-jo was right; she really did dislike forced meetings.
“Well… I’ve never gone even once, so I figured once might be okay…”
“You’ll be going with the kids from the department, won’t you? Did you forget how hard it was freshman year?”
The earlier thoughts surfaced again of their own accord. That time. The strange atmosphere that had settled over the department at the start of freshman year. But… a lot of time had passed. Last year, this year—she hadn’t felt that same hostile stare from anyone in the department. Maybe she no longer needed to shrink away.
“It’s fine, Seung-jo! Almost all those kids have graduated by now…”
“You never know. You trust people too easily. It makes me uneasy.”
Was that true…? Reading the hesitation on her face, Seung-jo gave her shoulder a light, encouraging brush. Even that tiny contact made her heart drop with a soft thud.
“Anyway, if you end up going, tell me for sure. I’ll worry.”
I’ll worry. The words, offered carefully without overflowing, shook Ji-eum’s heart in an instant. The feelings she had clutched so tightly deep inside tried to lift their heads. Hoping the wild turmoil wouldn’t show on her face, she simply nodded.
“Okay. I will. Um…”
Just then Seung-jo’s phone rang. The long tone meant it was a call. He checked the caller and didn’t answer.
“I’m really late—gotta go. Professor’s looking for me.”
Yeah. Hurry on. Ji-eum smiled and watched his retreating back until it vanished completely from sight. Only then did she let the awkward smile drop from her face.
“This is bad.”
She’d thought she was fine. She’d thought the feelings had faded a lot while they were apart. But they hadn’t. Her chest still felt tight and sore. Ji-eum clenched the front of her shirt hard enough that her nails turned white.
Why does it still hurt this much…? If my heart stays exactly the same even after we’ve drifted apart, then I…
A long sigh scattered into the air.
“Thumping Planet…”
The name of the app suddenly rose in her mind and she murmured it under her breath. It had been the only outlet that had listened to her foolish lingering attachment, so it had surfaced without her realizing. Thumping Planet. And…
“Jemulpo Puppy.”
Ji-eum slowly opened her palm. Heat lingered in the small hand.
“…….”
The memory of Bupyeong that she hadn’t told Na-hui flickered up for a moment. The hot, rough touch, and that low, clear voice came back as vivid sensation.
“You’ve been singing the same old tune on Thumping Planet day and night—what’s with the hesitation now? I’ll listen. Go on, tell me.”
It’s all over, so what’s the point. Ji-eum clenched her fist tight and hurriedly picked up her pace.
Thud-thud-thud. Breath burned all the way up to her throat. Even as the Peddler Bag slung over her shoulder slammed repeatedly into her side, Ji-eum didn’t stop running. Her still-damp hair left dark wet patches on her shoulders, but she had no room to care.
Only after racing a long way did the general education building finally come into view. She pulled out her phone.
The reply only arrived once she reached the second-floor classroom door.
Ah, what the hell!
“You could’ve said so earlier…”
With a deflated look, Ji-eum trudged into the classroom. It was still chilly early spring, but racing over since morning had left her body flushed and hot. She plopped down beside Na-hui, who was completely absorbed in a basketball game on her phone by the window.
“Huff, huff… thought I was gonna die…”
“What made you late for once? Hold on. I’m almost done with this.”
She hadn’t meant to be late.
Someone had apparently moved into the unit right in front of Ji-eum’s officetel, and the crazy person had stacked moving boxes in a mountain that reached all the way to her front door, so it wouldn’t open. The movers had finally cleared them late, and she’d barely gotten out—one wrong step and she’d have been late for sure.
And this was the elective she’d gone through all that trouble to switch into…
Ji-eum pulled a bottle of water from her bag and wet her throat. Catching her breath at last, she looked around the lecture hall. The triangular classroom that brought you closer to the professor the farther down the steps you went was packed full. The noise was loud enough to make her eardrums feel stuffed. Everyone seemed busy catching up with their own groups. The kids in the front rows were especially loud; when she listened in, they were talking about someone inside the classroom.
“Hey hey, let’s post it on Eta. Find out who it is.”
“Hundred percent Sports Science.”
“How do you know?”
“You blind? Just look at the body.”
“Sports Science had a face like that? Let’s poke him when we make teams later. There’s a group project for this.”
Snickers spread at the end of the sentence. The place where every gaze had gathered held a single male student sitting toward the front.
So there’s a good-looking guy around…?
Ji-eum thought indifferently as she screwed the cap back onto her water bottle. In the past she wouldn’t have understood the fuss over appearances. But now she could see how it might happen. Honestly, it seemed like you didn’t need any special reason to start liking someone.
Feelings of liking were usually irresistible, after all. Whatever the trigger, showing it openly like that looked better than hiding it in foolish lingering attachment. That was the kind of courage she herself had never managed to show until now.
“Aigoo, sorry I’m late.”
Just as Na-hui finished her game and was about to start chatting, the classroom door swung wide open. At the professor’s flustered entrance, the noisy hall fell silent in an instant.
“Alright, since it’s the first day we’ll do roll call in person. From next week we’ll switch to electronic attendance.”
Names were called one by one.
“Next… Kwon Beom-ju?”
“Yes!”
Ji-eum’s ears pricked as she had been blankly letting the unfamiliar names wash over her. The guy who’d just answered had a deep, booming voice. Who was that? The voice was pretty nice even in that brief moment, so she lifted her head—and saw the man the front-row kids had been eyeing raising his hand high. Even from the back seats you could tell he had long arms and a solid, sturdy build. The front rows stirred again.
“It’s Kwon Beom-ju.”
“How does even the name sound like Kwon Beom-ju…”
For a short while every student’s gaze focused on him. But soon the dull lecture began and the atmosphere settled again. Practical Investment and Risk Management, the professor explained, was a class that went beyond theoretical knowledge to let you experience the financial markets through actual investment practice. Reading market trends and discovering stocks would be the main content.
And just as the front-row kids had said, there was a group project. Honestly, who ever welcomed group projects? But she’d never had one in a general-education class before, so she’d been half hoping she might dodge it this time. Whatever it was, it beat pantomime. The problem, though, was how the teams would be formed.
“Alright, alright, quiet down everyone! We’ll make teams of four. Ah, and for the sake of our loner friends, I went ahead and randomized the groups myself.”
The professor smiled faintly behind his red glasses. Students murmured as they stared at the screen displaying each team’s roster. Some let out cheers; others sighed in disappointment.
“Ugh…”