Lost in your lens - Minji x M!Reader

Ch. 1 - Three Weeks

The hardest part of being alone in a new country isn't the language barrier. It's not the cultural differences, or even the constant fear of making social mistakes. It's the moments between classes, when everyone else seems to know exactly where they belong, who they belong with.

Three weeks into my exchange year at Seoul National University, I'd mastered the art of looking busy while being completely alone. My phone had become my best friend – or at least, that's what I wanted people to think as I stared at an empty message screen during lunch. The last real text I'd gotten was from my mom two days ago, asking if I was making friends.

I hadn't known how to tell her that I spent most days eating alone, picking at my food while watching other students share jokes and stories across cafeteria tables. That I'd started taking the long way to classes just to avoid the busy courtyard where friend groups always gathered. That sometimes I spoke so little during the day that when I finally got back to my dorm, my own voice sounded foreign to me.

The campus coffee shop was the worst, somehow. Something about the warm lighting and cozy atmosphere made the loneliness sharper. Everyone looked like they were living in a coming-of-age drama – studying together, sharing drinks, belonging. Meanwhile, I'd developed a whole scientific method for looking purposefully alone rather than pathetically lonely:

Step 1: Pick a corner seat, but not too far in the corner. Make it look chosen, not like you're hiding.
Step 2: Spread out books like you're too busy studying to socialize.
Step 3: Keep your phone out, screen bright enough for others to see you're getting messages (even if they're just app notifications).
Step 4: Perfect the small smile that says "I'm content alone" rather than "please, someone talk to me."

Today's particular challenge: ordering coffee without making it obvious I'd been rehearsing the words in my head for ten minutes, trying not to think about how this would be the only Korean I'd speak aloud all day.

"The americano is really good here," a soft voice said in Korean, breaking through my internal spiral. "Though you look more like a latte person."

I turned to find a girl with a camera hanging around her neck, watching me with a mixture of amusement and understanding. Her sweater was slightly too big, giving her a cozy look that somehow still seemed purposeful.

"That obvious I'm lost, huh?" I switched to Korean, trying not to wince at my accent. Three weeks of classes and I still sounded like a textbook coming to life.

"Not lost," she smiled, and something about it made the knot in my stomach ease slightly. "Just... thinking very hard about coffee."

She wasn't wrong. The menu board might as well have been written in hieroglyphics for how intensely I was studying it, trying to remember if I needed to use formal or informal speech when ordering.

"I'm Minji," she offered, then added in surprisingly good English, "And your Korean is better than you think it is."

Before I could respond, it was my turn to order. Minji stayed next to me, her presence somehow making the whole process less daunting. When I successfully completed my order without embarrassing myself, she gave me a smile that felt like winning something.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked as I looked around for a seat – preferably one that didn't scream 'I eat alone every day.' "It's always nicer with company."

That's how I found myself sharing a table with Minji, watching as she occasionally lifted her camera to capture something that caught her eye. It was nice, having someone to sit with. Different from the past weeks of carefully cultivated solitude.

Every now and then I'd hear the soft click of her camera, but whenever I looked up, she was focused on something else entirely, like she was catching moments without disturbing them.

I was about to ask what she was photographing when a whirlwind of energy burst through the door.

"MINJI-UNNIE!" A girl who looked younger than us but radiated chaos energy bounded over. "You will not believe what just happened in Professor Kim's class— oh, hello!"

She stopped abruptly, noticing me. Her smile could have powered the entire coffee shop.

"Hyein," Minji sighed fondly, "inside voice?"

"Sorry, sorry," Hyein stage-whispered, dropping into a chair. "But who's your new friend?"

Before either of us could answer, two more girls appeared. One moved with a dancer's grace, while the other had the quiet presence of a cat finding its favorite sunspot.

"Found her!" the graceful one announced. "Oh, she's made a friend!"

"Hanni, Haerin," Minji gestured to each in turn. "This is..."

"Y/N," I supplied, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden increase in social interaction after weeks of carefully maintained solitude. "Exchange student."

"We know," Haerin said softly, surprising me. When I looked confused, she nodded toward my SNU lanyard and very obviously mismatched socks.

"The socks are a bold choice," another voice chimed in as the final member of their group arrived. "I'm Danielle. Want a cookie? I stress-baked last night."

"She stress-bakes a lot," Hanni explained, stealing a cookie. "We've learned to just accept it."

Just like that, I was absorbed into their orbit. Hyein launched into a dramatic retelling of her history class, complete with sound effects. Hanni provided commentary while Haerin occasionally corrected details with small gestures or raised eyebrows. Danielle distributed baked goods like she was feeding an army.

And Minji... Minji kept sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking, though her camera stayed mostly forgotten in her lap.

My phone buzzed with an actual message this time, not just the fake ones I usually pretended to read:

*"Mom: How's Seoul? Making any friends?"*

Looking around at the chaos I'd somehow stumbled into – Hyein now acting out what was apparently a very dramatic Joseon Dynasty power struggle while Hanni filmed it for "historical records" – I felt something tight in my chest begin to loosen.

*"Me: Yeah, actually. I think I am."*

"He's keeping him," Haerin announced quietly to no one in particular, her first full sentence since arriving.

"We're keeping him," Hyein corrected, pausing her historical reenactment. "Obviously."

Minji caught my eye and smiled that smile again – the one that made Seoul feel a little less foreign, a little more like somewhere I could belong.

*Click.*

Her camera had found its way back to her hands so naturally I hadn't even noticed.

"Sorry," she said, not looking sorry at all. "Couldn't help it."

For the first time in three weeks, I didn't feel like I needed to check my phone to look busy.