the real you

“Before we begin today’s lecture, we have a new student joining us moving forward,” says your biology professor. “Please stand up and introduce yourself.”

At first, no one complies. Everyone’s just looking around to see familiars and peers they’ve been with since freshmen, others graduating soon, and so on. As far as anyone can tell, nothing new here.

Then a girl near the corner of the back of the room quietly rises from her seat, scraping the floor when she moves her chair. She’s shaking, annoyed by the attention she’s drawing. Her head is down, unable to look anyone directly in the eye.

She doesn’t speak. Just stands up like she’s being judged by the general public. The professor insists she speak up and introduce herself, his voice disarming and low as possible, but she freezes.

And then, she finally talks.

“Hi—my name is—” she starts, before her voice drops low, stifling herself. “Yena.”

“Please repeat yourself?”

“Choi Yena,” she mutters out, bowing gently then sitting back down. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Alright. You heard her. Please be kind to our new student.”

All the other students quietly just stare along, probably wishing they’d be anywhere but in class right now. Cool, new person. Now let’s keep it pushing.

Meanwhile, you can’t stop glancing at her every now and then. She looks so pretty under the sunlight, kissing her skin like she was sunshine incarnate itself. You’re feeling a little too intrusive, because the more you look, the more you’re staring. It’s rude. But she’s so gorgeous, like an angel sent from the heavens to bless your presence.

When class is over, you watch her pack her things, slowly, carefully. She’s meticulous, not really in a rush or anything. You’re the opposite, packing up so quickly you’re among the first to leave the classroom.

“Hey,” you call, once the two of you are walking side-by-side. “I’m sorry if I was staring earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Ah, no, it’s okay,” she replies, smiling at you. “I’m not used to introductions like that. I was nervous.”

“You seemed pretty shy. I hope I didn’t add onto it.”

“No, no. You’re fine. Don’t worry. I’m not good with crowds, that’s all.”

“Me neither.”

The two of you continue chatting for a bit, and she’s actually got a lot more to say than you were led to believe. It’s not hard to get her talking, and she’s easy to chat with, and the two of you exchange numbers, promising to meet up sometime later this week.

“Thank you for being so nice to me,” she says, bowing politely.

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you’re sweet,” you reply. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she replies quietly. Her cheeks turn a faint blush of red, but neither of you address it.

Both of you then head your separate ways, to different classes. Surely this has to be the start of something special. None of the girls have ever caught your eye, but Yena is different: it was love at first sight.

And you figure Yena would reciprocate the same kindness today, but:

It’s lunchtime and everyone’s at the cafeteria mostly, with their cliques and friend groups. But Yena’s seated by her lonesome in the corner of the place, away from prying eyes.

All except yours.

When you try to sit with her, asking whether she’d be comfortable with your presence around, she doesn’t say a word. Just eats her meal quietly, unassumingly. So you let yourself in just across her table.

“So,” you start, trying to get her to engage, to open up from her shell. “How’s the school so far? Made any new friends?”

She doesn’t answer; she continues to eat, completely ignoring you.

“Okay, maybe not friends,” you continue. “But how’s your day been?”

Nothing.

“Do you want to hang out some time after school? Maybe you just hate school—”

“Why are you bothering me?” Yena suddenly interjects, her tone firm and harsh. Her glare is sharp, almost looking like she’s ready to spit her food directly at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Just go away,” she says, glaring at you. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to be seen with you. Or with anyone, for that matter.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Just leave me alone,” she repeats.

“But I was just trying to be nice.”

“I don’t need it right now. Just—respect my wishes and kindly fuck off. Thank you.”

“Oh, alright.”

You’re a little taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, but you acknowledge her request and leave her alone, deciding to finish your meal elsewhere.

As soon as you find your new table, she’s already done and is already leaving.

Maybe she’s not interested, you think. But it’s not like you’re trying to flirt, either. It’s basic human decency.

You can’t help but be curious, and you can’t help but feel sad.

The same thing happens the very next day: when you try to approach Yena, she’s already in flight mode. When she’s sharing classes with you, she blends behind other female students before disappearing into the background. In the rare moment you do catch her, asking her whether she wants to hang out or what’s going on, she doesn’t answer and instead simply walks away.

And the pattern continues. The more you try to figure her out, the more you feel like a stalker.

It’s a Friday afternoon, and you’re still trying to figure her out.

“Hey, Yena,” you say, greeting her. She’s in the library, studying. “You’re here early. Wanna hang out later?”

“I have plans,” she answers.

“Oh, alright. Then what about tomorrow, or—”

“I’m busy,” she replies, her voice firm and cold. “I’m not available. I have to study. And I don’t have the time or energy to entertain you.”

“Wait, I’m not trying to be a bother.”