Ramen

It always started the same way.

You’d be minding your business on campus—probably walking half-awake to your 9 a.m. lecture with a half-burnt toast in your mouth and hoodie strings dragging in the wind when the buzz would start. Students whispering, heads turning. Phones subtly angled. And that’s when you knew: she was coming.

Ahyeon. The campus “IT girl.”

Not the mean kind, of course—Ahyeon wasn’t nasty. To be honest, she didn’t need to be. She was just effortlessly cool. The kind of cool that didn’t try. The kind that people envied but couldn’t hate because she never gave them a reason to. Even professors double-checked their ties when she walked in (it’s most likely a coincidence but it’s more fun for you.)

That morning, like clockwork, she strolled through the quad in a charcoal trench coat (yes, a trench coat, like those French detectives on TV), black boots clicking against the pavement, phone in one hand and a toast in the other.

Her hair fell in soft waves, stylish and untouched. Her headphones rested on her neck, the subtle glint of gold jewellery catching the sunlight And of course, her expression? Unbothered. As if the world was just a particularly well-lit backdrop for her main character vibe.

She didn’t talk much on campus. Barely even blinked. Gave polite nods, the occasional faint smile. You once saw her refuse a date by simply raising a brow, and the guy just… walked away. No words exchanged. (Power move, for real)

To everyone else, she was mystery wrapped in elegance with a side of “don’t even try.” To you? She seemed like that untouchable girl you mentally filed into the “we live in different worlds” category.

Which is why your soul left your body when you walked into your new dorm room, fresh off an overdue move-in, and saw a suitcase sitting on the other bed. A designer suitcase, with a luggage tag so fancy you were scared to touch it.

You leaned in, squinting. “AHYEON”

You stared at the name. Then stared at the door. Then back at the name.

Nah, fuck nah. There had to be another Ahyeon. A different one. Or it’s meant to say Ayeon. Or Mayeon. A less intimidating, non-famous version, hopefully. Someone with a hobby in pottery or fungi. Not the one who made heads turn every day like no big deal.

You sat there frozen for a solid ten minutes, just replaying every time you’d passed her on campus while looking like a rejected movie extra. Your socks didn’t even match today. You couldn’t handle this.

Then came the door click.

You turned your head just in time to see her walk in—hair tied up in a lazy bun this time, oversized framed glass covering half her face, and… holding three giant bags of ramen packets?

“…You’re the roommate?” she asked, blinking.

“Uh…hi?”

“Yo. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you touch my packets.”

You gawked. The campus queen bee, ruler of effortless grace, breaker of hearts and silence alike…just threatened you over ramen?

And then, without another word, she plopped down cross-legged on the floor, fished a bag of shrimp crackers from her tote, and started munching like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“I call the right side of the room, by the way,” she said with a mouth full of chips. “The lighting’s better for skincare.”

You were still standing there, trying to reboot your brain like a frozen laptop. "Uh…yeah. Make yourself home-I mean it’s your home bu- ugh you know what I mean…?”

What. Just. Happened?

-

Yeah, you still couldn’t wrap your head around it after a few weeks.

Every time you walked back into your shared dorm room, it was like stepping through a portal. One second, you’d be on campus watching Ahyeon glide through the quad with her designer bag slung over her shoulder like another fashion show. Next, you’d be in the dorm, watching that same girl trying to microwave three-day-old rice while wearing a hoodie so big it practically dragged on the floor.

It was bizarre. Fascinating. Terrifying. You weren’t sure which version was the disguise anymore. It definitely would make any sane person go nuts.

On campus, Ahyeon was all poise and polish. Spine straight, tone clipped, giving out head nods like royalty. She’d barely glance at people who greeted her. You once saw her shut down a classmate’s flirting attempt with a single look. No words. Just a raised eyebrow and an “I’m so above this” expression that could’ve ended dynasties.

But back at the dorm?

“Ya, where’s my ramen pot. The one with the tiny scratches on the bottom, not that ugly shiny one, have you seen it?!”

You looked up from your laptop, eyebrows slowly rising. “You have a favourite ramen pot?”

“Don’t judge me, it hits different,” she muttered, already rifling through the cabinet like a raccoon in distress.

You said nothing. You were still mentally buffering from seeing her thirty minutes earlier in lecture, where she’d answered a professor’s question with the kind of smooth, articulate delivery that made people blink twice. Yeah, you were still trying to process why you saw her walk past the philosophy building like she was starring in her own perfume ad, only for her to come home and slap down a jumbo ramen packet like it owed her money.

…Let’s just not say anything. Not out loud, at least. You weren’t suicidal. You just sat there, quietly perplexed, sipping your water while Ahyeon victoriously yanked her precious ramen pot from under a stack of mismatched pans. “Found you, Bobby.”

She patted it. Patted it.

“You name your pot Bobby?”

“I name things that bring me joy,” she replied smoothly, already tearing into the ramen packet with intense focus. “You should feel glad I still remember your name.”

You opened your mouth to respond but she didn’t give you the chance.

Instead, she plopped down onto the floor like it was instinct, ramen boiling away in the corner. Then she turned her head with that look—one you’d learned to recognize. “Game time.”

“Huh?” “Mario Kart. You’re player two. I’m not letting you escape again.”

“I have assignment—” Before you could protest, she grabbed your wrist and physically dragged you down next to her like a lazy cat staking claim on a sunny spot. Your body hit the rug with a soft thud as she shoved a controller into your hand and “tossed” over a bowl of freshly made ramen (she didn’t actually toss it, thankfully).

“You didn’t even ask if I wanted to —”

“You’re eating my food. That’s consent.”

“That’s not how consent works. Plus you just shove me the bowl.”

She just grinned at you, clicking through the menus. “You talk too much for someone who always comes in last place.”

“Oh, excuse me?!” “Shhh. Choose your character. And if you pick Toad again, I’m destroying your controller.”

You sighed, defeated, but your lips twitched despite yourself.

And it became smooth sailing from now on. Sharing ramen with the off-duty queen bee while getting thrashed in Mario Kart. Not that you’d ever say it out loud, but… it wasn’t so bad. Still confusing as hell. But not so bad. Eventually, you just… got used to it.

The duality. The whiplash. The fact that Ahyeon basically lived two lives like some ramen-slurping, Mario Kart-playing Hannah Montana. (Live the best of both world~)

Anyway, you simply just adapted.