Autumn Calculus

Ch.11.

The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of Eun-ji’s tiny dorm room, casting soft golden rays across her desk. She rubbed her eyes groggily and stretched, her mind still heavy from the conversation with Ji-hoon.

As much as she tried to focus on academics, her thoughts kept returning to the way his voice had softened, the way he’d said he missed her. It wasn’t a confession, but it carried a weight she couldn’t ignore.

Determined to shake off her lingering guilt, Eun-ji decided to focus on something she could control—her friendships.

---

At lunch, Ha-rin and Min-seo practically dragged Eun-ji into the cafeteria. The school festival was fast approaching, and everyone was buzzing with excitement about it.

“I’m telling you, Eun-ji,” Ha-rin said, bouncing with energy as they sat down at their usual table, “you have to join our group for the festival. We’re doing a themed café, and we need your brains to make it amazing.”

“I thought you just wanted me to clean up afterward,” Eun-ji teased, stirring her soup.

“Don’t act like you don’t love being part of these things,” Min-seo said with a wink. “Besides, Ji-hoon’s already volunteered. And you know how much fun it is when he’s involved.”

Eun-ji paused mid-bite, her ears perking up at Ji-hoon’s name. She wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but before she could argue, Ji-hoon appeared with a tray in hand, sliding into the seat next to her as if he’d always been there.

“Did I hear my name?” he asked, flashing his signature grin.

Min-seo laughed. “We were just saying how excited you are to help with the festival.”

“Excited?” Ji-hoon said, raising an eyebrow. “I got roped into this because someone promised me free snacks.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Ha-rin cut in. “He’s actually really into it. He even suggested we do a hanbok-inspired theme.”

Eun-ji’s gaze flicked to Ji-hoon, surprised. “Hanbok?”

Ji-hoon shrugged casually, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “I thought it’d be cool to show off some Korean culture. You know, keep it authentic.”

Eun-ji couldn’t help but smile. For all his teasing and bravado, Ji-hoon had a thoughtful side that always seemed to catch her off guard.

---

Over the next few days, Eun-ji found herself spending more and more time with the group, working late into the evenings to plan the festival booth. Their café would feature traditional Korean sweets like tteok (rice cakes) and yakgwa (honey cookies), and the staff would wear modernized hanbok to give it a fresh yet nostalgic vibe.

Ji-hoon, to everyone’s surprise, took on the role of designing the booth layout. Watching him sketch rough blueprints on scrap paper with a focused expression, Eun-ji found herself smiling without realizing it.

“You’re staring,” Ha-rin whispered, nudging her with a smirk.

“I’m not!” Eun-ji hissed back, her face heating up.

“Sure you’re not.”

---

On the day of the festival, the campus was alive with color and music. Booths lined the main courtyard, each more vibrant than the last, and the air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of street food.

Eun-ji was helping set up their café booth when Ji-hoon appeared, carrying a tray of freshly made tteok. He was wearing a sleek modern hanbok in navy and gold, and Eun-ji couldn’t help but notice how well it suited him.

“Do I look good, or do I look amazing?” Ji-hoon asked, striking a mock pose.

“You look ridiculous,” Eun-ji said, rolling her eyes, but her smile betrayed her.

“You’re just jealous because I look better in hanbok than you,” Ji-hoon teased.

Eun-ji was about to retort when Min-seo interrupted. “Okay, lovebirds, save the banter for later. We have customers!”

---

The day flew by in a whirlwind of laughter and activity. Ji-hoon worked the crowd with his natural charm, drawing people in with jokes and easy conversation. Eun-ji, meanwhile, handled the orders with efficiency, her years of problem-solving making her the perfect coordinator.

But what stood out most was how effortlessly they worked together, like two halves of a whole.

---

As the sun set and the festival began to wind down, the group gathered around their booth, exhausted but happy. Ji-hoon handed Eun-ji a warm cup of sikhye (sweet rice drink) and sat beside her on the curb.

“You did great today,” he said, his tone unusually sincere.

“So did you,” Eun-ji replied, taking a sip.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the lanterns flicker in the cool evening breeze. For once, there was no teasing, no banter—just a quiet moment shared between friends.

And in that moment, Eun-ji felt something shift. It wasn’t dramatic or overwhelming, but it was there—a small, unspoken connection that made her heart feel a little lighter.

Maybe, she thought, just maybe, Ji-hoon wasn’t such a distraction after all.