They met when he was seventeen. She was soft-spoken, a little shy, and unforgettable. Before he could say everything he wanted, she was gone—too suddenly, too tragically.

Now at twenty-nine, Jeonghan lives with the ghost of that memory... until she walks into his classroom. Same eyes. Same smile. Same ache in his chest.

She shouldn't be real. But here she is.

As Jeonghan stood at the front of the lecture hall, he gazed out at the sea of unfamiliar faces, their youthful energy buzzing under the warm lights.

But then—he saw her. His breath hitched.

The student in the second row, her dark hair falling softly around her face as she bent her head to write something down, smiling faintly at a friend's whispered joke.

For a moment, he saw a ghost.

He blinked, heart thudding. No... it couldn't be. And yet, her profile, her expression—it was the same. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. The way she tilted her head like she always used to.

Jeonghan looked away quickly, hoping no one noticed the flicker of emotion that passed through him. But his eyes betrayed him, drifting back to her again and again as the lecture continued.

His thoughts spiraled. It was ridiculous, impossible. But that didn't stop the quiet ache in his chest.

When class ended, Jeonghan took longer than usual to gather his notes. His hands trembled slightly as he slid them into his leather bag.

He glanced up—and there she was, standing, gathering her things. Something about the way she moved pulled him back to another time.

He didn't plan to speak. He really didn't. But the words left his mouth anyway.

"Miss?" he asked gently, his voice low but steady. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"