Lifetime

Impressionism

I was still working part-time, my days split between classes, working, and studying at every chance I had, on metro rides, during lulls at the library and between Faye's complaints that I hadn't yet approached Namjoon. I couldn't fathom how to begin talking to him because in our current relationship he wasn't Namjoon, he was Mr. Kim, my art history professor.

Time passed quickly with my routine, and though I only saw him two days out of the week for class, the three hours spent listening to him lecture with enthusiasm for gothic art, baroque, and the renaissance era became the thing I looked forward to the most.

With the on-campus coffee shops constantly flooded with students, I explored the area around campus until I stumbled upon a smaller shop. It was filled with books that you could exchange for others, had the best donut varieties, and most importantly, free drip refills.

I quickly became a regular, the family who owned the shop memorizing both my to-go order and one for when I was planning to stay a while. Even during the busier hours I felt cozy tucked into the corner by the window, switching between reading for school and leisure.

Evan, the owner's teenage son, brought another refill of my coffee and I thanked him. The cafe was nearly packed, the limited seating taken by another regular who was working on his novel, a small family treating their kids to sweets, and a couple doing more kissing than drinking.

The intense beat that picked up in my spirit made me look up, Mr. Kim entering with the next ring of the bell that chimed with every guest. He went straight to the front counter, placing an order while looking around the cafe for an open seat.

"Miss Wright, do you mind if I join you?" He asked. I'd been switching between eyeing the textbook that I held at an angle in front of my face and him.

"Of course." I replied, exchanging my book to take a few sips of coffee and observing the way the fabric of his shirt stretched over his wide shoulders as he removed his jacket.

He didn't have much with him, the messenger bag he carried sounding nearly empty as he set it on the ground, pulling out a single notebook. Evan brought over his drink and he caught my eye as he dug through the bag with a chuckle. "Do you happen to have a pen?" He asked.

I smiled, remembering the first day of class and several after where he continually requested pens from students. I reached into the pocket of my bag, handing him one of my least favorite pens. "There has to come a day when you wonder if there's some stalker out there stealing every pen you're given or if you're actually just losing them that much." I commented.

He smiled, those dimples like two separate beats. "Miss Smith perhaps." He said, referencing the girl from my class who'd been trying to win his affections since the first day.

A few heads turned back to the usually quiet corner of the cafe as we burst into laughter. We met each other's eyes, calming down before giving our attention to work. He scribbled sloppily in his notebook while I kept my eyes trained on the open page of my textbook, not reading a word.

"Are you reading ahead?" He questioned. I glanced up to find him leaned across the small coffee table between us, pointing at my textbook with the pen.

When I glanced down I realized I held the textbook for his class, open to a chapter we weren't set to discuss until late November. My cheeks reddened with an embarrassed blush as I turned the page to the chapter we were assigned for the next week.

I wasn't sure if his knowing smile was based on our connection or his awareness of his attractiveness. "How do you feel about impressionism?" He asked.

"This will be my first time really reading about it, but based on the photos I've seen. I don't get much from the paintings. It's almost like they're unfinished." I shrugged, his eyes lighting up with the same passion they held during his lectures. He seemed unable to stop himself as he grabbed onto the book, setting it on the coffee table so that we had to lean in to see the pages.

He flipped through to a page that showed examples of famous impressionist paintings. "That was a pretty big critique of art from that era. Monet was criticized for his work appearing like a sketch. Impressionists typically used broken brushstrokes and didn't blend color as much." The way he moved his fingers along the page, tracing over examples of art that backed up his understanding, made the thumping increase. "It's kind of the entire point of this era. Everything was about something effortless and spontaneous, a scene, landscape, or person so captivating that the artist had to stop to paint it. Something that makes an impression you can't ignore, hence the name."

I was completely mesmerized by him, his phone buzzing and interrupting his detailing and my enchantment. He cleared his throat as I closed the book, digging into his pocket to answer a call. I packed my books away while listening to him explain that he was meeting with a student and would be home soon.

"Hopefully that's a good start to your studying for next week." He nodded to me when he hung up, handing over my pen with a grin and collecting his belongings. "I'll see you in class."

I finished my last cup of coffee before slipping back into my jacket and stepping out into the brisk September wind a few minutes after he left. On my walk to the metro I listened to a recorded lecture, the station less busy with the slight reduction in passengers that occurred right before rush hour.

I stood with my hands tucked securely in my pockets, waiting for the next scheduled subway on my route and pausing my lecture as I felt the intense heartbeat return. When I looked to my left he was there, just a few feet away from me and already having spotted me, giving a curious smile as he turned back to scrolling on his phone.

The feeling didn't subside when I boarded the car, finding a seat with him still in my eyeline as he stepped through the doors a few people behind me. He was quick to take the seat next to me, the drumming picking up as our sides touched.

"I can't decide if we're headed in the same direction or if you're my pen collecting stalker." He wore a coy smile as I giggled, shaking my head at his humor.

"I'm going home just like you, Mr. Kim." I responded.

He looked over and down at me as he replied. "I'll believe that when we part ways." He teased.

We rode the rest of the way in silence and with our minds seemingly in separate places. Mine was on him, and I wondered where his was as he remained paused on the article he was reading on his phone, never scrolling from the title.

We couldn't stop ourselves from laughing when we stood at the same stop. He let me off ahead of him and once we were both out of the station we waited in an amusing anticipation to see which direction we'd take. We walked in tune, our steps matching the beat that ran through me, until he finally stopped in front of a luxury apartment building just a few blocks from where Faye and I lived.

"I guess this is where we separate." I turned to step in front of him, looking up at the tall, upscale building. "How long have you been living here?"

"My fiancé and I just moved in before the semester started." He replied.

I nodded, trying to hush the voice in my head that repeated fiancé over and over. "I'll see you in class." I repeated his earlier goodbye from the cafe, my mind flooded with the word as I walked back to my apartment building.

"Fiancé!" Faye gasped after I finished debriefing her on my day.

I groaned, my chin pressed into my hand as I stuffed my mouth with the pasta we were having for dinner. "I know, I hadn't even considered anything like this. I guess this means I have to stay away from him." I rolled my eyes at the circumstance.

Faye looked up over her bowl, a look of question that conveyed her immediate thought.

I pointed my fork at her, giggling. "Absolutely not, I will not be a homewrecker. I am staying away from him."