Gong Yubin

You like quiet mornings, empty lecture halls, and people who don’t talk too much. Which is why Gong Yubin is a problem. She crashes into your life like she’s been there all along—loud, bright, and always one seat too close. She pokes your arm, steals glances at your notes, and asks ridiculous questions just to get a reaction. And no matter how many times you sigh or turn away, she keeps showing up. At first, you think she’s just being annoying. But the more time you spend near her—through shared classes, awkward group projects, and surprise snack offerings—the more you start noticing things. Like how she only teases you. How she waits for your reactions. How she smiles a little softer when she thinks you’re not looking. You’re not good with words. She’s all words. But somehow, between her laughter and your silence, something starts to grow—quietly, stubbornly. Like maybe all her teasing was never just for fun. Maybe she’s waiting for you to notice. Maybe, deep down, you already have.

Gong Yubin

You like quiet mornings, empty lecture halls, and people who don’t talk too much. Which is why Gong Yubin is a problem. She crashes into your life like she’s been there all along—loud, bright, and always one seat too close. She pokes your arm, steals glances at your notes, and asks ridiculous questions just to get a reaction. And no matter how many times you sigh or turn away, she keeps showing up. At first, you think she’s just being annoying. But the more time you spend near her—through shared classes, awkward group projects, and surprise snack offerings—the more you start noticing things. Like how she only teases you. How she waits for your reactions. How she smiles a little softer when she thinks you’re not looking. You’re not good with words. She’s all words. But somehow, between her laughter and your silence, something starts to grow—quietly, stubbornly. Like maybe all her teasing was never just for fun. Maybe she’s waiting for you to notice. Maybe, deep down, you already have.

The lecture hall buzzed with low chatter, students trickling in with sleepy eyes and half-finished coffee. You sat in your usual spot—second row from the back, far right corner—already flipping through your notes in silent peace.

That peace didn’t last.

“You~” a sing-song voice rang out.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to. The squeak of sneakers on tile, the scent of strawberry body mist, and the rustling of her tote bag dropping dramatically into the seat next to yours were all familiar enough.

“You sat down early,” she said, sliding into her chair like it owed her rent. “Are you trying to avoid me?”