Frosted Flame

“Will you go out with me, Minjeong?”

You slide the small jewellery box across the table toward her. The exterior is covered in delicate, crystallised patterns that resemble spreading frost — each snowflake-like motif repeating across the six-sided surface like frozen fern leaves.

Minjeong doesn’t look up at first.

Her delicate fingers finally reach out, hovering for a moment before she picks up the box. You hold your breath. Five fingers curl around the base. Another five settle lightly on the lid. The soft click as she opens it feels impossibly loud in the quiet lecture room.

You can’t look away from her hands — that slight tremble you think you see might just be your own nerves making everything unsteady. The lid tilts open slowly.

Inside, the silver necklace catches the light: a hollow column of frosted glass enclosing a tiny, eternal flame of amber that flickers softly, trapped yet undying behind the ice. A thin, elegant chain adorned with tiny crystal accents completes the piece.

“Do you like it?” you ask, voice warm with hope.

She stares at it for a long second. For the briefest moment, the corners of her lips lift — a tiny, almost invisible smile that vanishes as quickly as it appeared. That single flicker is enough to make your heart surge with wild hope.

“I do,” she answers softly.

Your chest swells, a victorious fist pumping hard inside your ribs — she likes it, she actually likes it — only for her next words to crush the feeling instantly.

“But I won’t go out with you.”

The fist drops like a stone.

“Why?” The question slips out before you can stop it. Your throat feels tight. “If you like the gift, then… is it me? Am I not—”

“No,” she cuts in. Her voice turns cold and distant, the Ice Queen mask sliding firmly into place. “It’s not you. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

She closes the box with a quiet snap and slides it back toward you.

You push it gently back to her instead. “Keep it. Please. It would look perfect on you.”

Minjeong’s lips part, as if she wants to argue. “Hey— take it with you—”

But you’re already standing, offering her one small, defeated smile before turning away.

“Hey!” she calls after you, sharper this time, but you don’t look back as you leave the lecture room, chest tight with disappointment.

You’ve liked Minjeong since your first year in Digital Media. Three long years of watching her quiet, untouchable beauty and that cool, sharp gaze that somehow always drew you in. Everyone calls her the Ice Queen — cold, expressionless, unapproachable.

You’ve never quite believed it.

There’s always something that feels warmer hidden behind those eyes. You just have no proof.

And now, after finally working up the courage, you’ve been rejected.

“Morning. That necklace looks really good on you.”

Your heart does a small painful flip. She actually kept it. She actually wore it.

Minjeong’s fingers brush the column of frosted glass lightly before she lowers it to grab the handle of her cup of coffee.

“It’s really pretty… Thank you for the gift,” she murmurs, eyes wavering but guarded.

“Then why say no yesterday?”

Her fingers clench the cup tighter. “I just can't. Please don't make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Minjeong… I’m not the one making it hard,” you mumble with a small exasperation. “I gave you a gift. You rejected me. I insisted you keep the gift. Well, I shouldn't have, but you actually kept it and wore it on the very next day. If you're not giving me mixed signals, if you're not giving me false hope, then what am I supposed to feel?”

“Then would you rather me throw it away?” she snaps back at you, gaze now sharpened into a cold and indifferent stare.

“No—”

Before you can respond, she stands, grabs her handbag and grips the handle with a pronounced twist. You're left there, watching her white dress flutter in the graceful stride that she takes as she walks off coldly.

From that day on, the necklace disappears from her neck.

You notice its absence immediately, but you don’t mention it again. The rejection already stings enough. Instead, the tension between you two starts to build in other ways. Well you're not one to give up that easily, but sometimes it really hurts.

A few days later, during a long Digital Media lecture on advanced lighting techniques, you decide to try a small, quiet gesture.

You arrive early and leave a neatly boxed slice of strawberry shortcake on Minjeong’s usual desk. It's her favorite, according to the few things you’ve observed over the years. Just the cake in a simple white box with a little ribbon. No note, no extra indication of anything you. Well, it's only you who has the guts to express your affection for the Ice Queen.

When she enters and sees it, she pauses. Her fingers hover over the box for a moment, but she doesn’t push it away or throw it out. She simply sits down, leaving the cake where it is.

Fuck.

Halfway through the lecture, the professor poses a difficult question about colour temperature and mood in portraits. The room stays silent. Minjeong shifts uncomfortably. You know she knows the answer but hates speaking up.

And everyone knows she knows the answer.

So? So everyone starts to glance at her with pressing eyes, and the ones nearer to her nudge her expectantly.

From two rows behind her, you raise your hand calmly.

“I think warmer colour temperatures, like 3200K to 4500K, generally create a more intimate and emotional feel. They soften skin tones and make the subject feel approachable, almost nostalgic. Cooler tones above 5500K tend to feel more distant or clinical, which can work for dramatic portraits but might pull the viewer away from connecting emotionally.”

The professor nods.

“Good attempt. You're on the right track with warmer tones creating intimacy and cooler tones feeling more distant. However, it's not quite that simple. Warm light can also feel tense or nostalgic depending on the shadows and context. Cooler light can feel calm or even melancholic, not just clinical.”

The class nods and pens down notes as the Professor continues. “The key isn't just the Kelvin number, it's how the temperature works with your overall lighting, the subject's expression, and the composition. Treat it as a tool for mood, not a strict rule.”

You glance toward Minjeong, hoping for some small reaction, but she stays perfectly still, eyes fixed forward.

The lesson continues on as any lecture would — the professor goes through some concepts, asks some probing questions, and offers corrections to any incorrect answers.

Throughout the whole time, your eyes keep darting towards Minjeong every few seconds or so. No, not because you want to see some reaction. Okay, maybe you do. You just want her to—