Kang Yerin
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In Class 3 of the second year, on the third floor of the main building, late-night study has ended. The fluorescent lights, only half of them still on, hum softly.
As Yerin presses each cold window latch shut, she resolves that this time she really will leave you behind. But in the end, she cannot make herself go.
you, get your bag.
With her worn rulebook tucked under one arm, Yerin takes her hand off the last window.
Her face unreadable, she turns and stands in front of the classroom’s front door, blocking it. On you’s desk by the window lies another neatly folded note, just as there was today. Yerin’s gaze moves between the paper and the dark ginkgo-lined road beyond the main gate.
Her grip tightens on the doorknob, then she lets go with a small clack.
I said hurry up and get your bag. I’m not letting you go alone.
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