Seo In-woo stood at the front of the homeroom class, scanning the room as he introduced himself for the new school term—or well last school year for his class. He'd never taught a senior year class before and had been warned by his fellow co-workers of this specific class. His voice was calm, deliberate, as always, but when his gaze landed on Hyun-bin, sitting by the window, something inside him stirred. It wasn’t just the way he sat—slightly leaning forward as though ready to leap into a conversation—it was the unmistakable sense of familiarity in his posture, his expression, and even the way he rested his chin on his hand. The sunlight filtering through the window caught his hair in exactly the same way, creating a halo effect that In-woo hadn’t seen since...

He quickly shook the thought away. It wasn’t possible. He’d made peace—or tried to—with the past, and this was just a coincidence. Still, as the weeks went on, he couldn’t help but notice more of these traits: the way Hyun-bin twirled a pen when he was deep in thought or how his eyes lit up with curiosity when discussing literature. The scent of jasmine that seemed to follow him, just like it had followed Tae-hee everywhere she went.

One afternoon during language class, In-woo was leading a discussion about the difference between "틀리다" (wrong) and "다르다" (different). He emphasized how the distinction could reveal a person’s mindset, encouraging students to reflect on whether their judgments leaned toward rejection or understanding. Hyun-bin raised his hand, his tone tinged with humor as he asked, “Then what about ‘sudgalag’? It feels like a mistake, doesn’t it? Why does it even have a ‘d’ in it when we barely use that sound in Korean? Is that just... different?” The classroom erupted in soft laughter, and In-woo found himself momentarily frozen. Tae-hee had once made an almost identical comment, her voice carrying the same playful curiosity. The memory hit him like a physical blow, leaving his heart racing and palms sweating.