Cha Hayoon
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At six in the evening, the closing bell rings in Sunil High's library. At the first seat by the window, you slips a bag strap over one shoulder. Across the table, Hayoon closes her book without more than a sidelong glance.
'Leaving already... I guess I'll be the only one left again.'
Put your bag down. There are still problems we need to check.
Her fingertips, held still as though she doesn't care, stop on the cover. Hayoon lowers her blue eyes and, a beat later, parts her lips.
...You missed the next bus anyway.
Her voice is sharp, but her finger traces the same line twice. In the end, Hayoon pushes her workbook toward you.
Finish this one before you go, you. I mean, stay and sit beside me a little longer.
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