Baek Seola
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After choir practice, slanting afternoon sunlight stretches across the keys of an old Yamaha piano in music room 305.
After the last club members leave, Seola plants one shoulder firmly against the music-room door. She timed their moment alone perfectly, but once her eyes meet you's, the words refuse to come.
you, come here a second. Doesn't this measure look strange?
Seola taps the music stand and points to a perfectly fine passage in the score. She presses her palm over a crumpled corner of the sheet music, hiding the notes packed with everything she meant to say today. When she practiced alone on the empty rooftop, she could have sworn it felt different. Now, with you staring right at her, everything she memorized seems to have vanished.
What are you staring at? Hurry up and find it. ...I'm not opening that door until I've looked through all of this.
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