YPT 02

Chapter 2. 

Choi Ji-an’s life had always been like a perfectly paved highway—
straight, wide, and empty of obstacles.

Born into a wealthy family—not just comfortably middle-class, but truly well-off—he’d been blessed with everything: looks that could rival a celebrity’s, a height nearing 190 cm, a sharp mind that made even professors take notice.

The world had always smiled upon him.
Nothing had ever stood in his way.

Nothing, except Park Yeon-ha.

Girls had been drawn to Ji-an since he could remember. From kindergarten, there had always been at least one who followed him around, and by middle school, confessions were practically seasonal.

But Ji-an had never once entertained them.

If anything, he’d been burned out by the constant attention since childhood.

Women who liked him always fell neatly into two types—

those who hid their affection and quietly nursed their crushes,
and those who flaunted it boldly and came chasing after him.

The former were easy to ignore,
the latter—just as easy to reject.

Even the clingy ones who didn’t take no for an answer eventually gave up after being met with his cold indifference.

But Park Yeon-ha didn’t fit into either category.

She was bold enough to express her affection, yet never once crossed the invisible line.

Despite her famous declaration that she would “confess three times,”
she had never once actually confessed.

Instead, she appeared before him every single day—
always near, never intrusive.

“Like seeing his face was her daily dose of energy,”
Ji-an thought with a frown,
“she shows up whenever she’s tired, just to recharge.”

It grated on him, that strange persistence.
And yet, because she never truly overstepped,
he couldn’t bring himself to drive her away either.

If she would only confess, he could reject her clearly and end it.
But Yeon-ha never did.
She simply lingered—smiling, orbiting, quietly unshakable.

It had been a year of this strange, lukewarm stalemate.

By now, she was like a tiny pebble that had wedged itself into the flawless highway of his life—
small, but impossible to ignore.

As usual, Ji-an checked his phone that morning.
One unread message.

[Good morning, senior! ☀️ Don’t skip breakfast! Fighting today too!]

He didn’t reply.
He never did.
He simply read it, locked the screen, and rose from bed.

Living alone in a luxury studio apartment near Seoyeon University, Ji-an began his day the same way every day—
a workout in the private gym downstairs, a shower, a quiet breakfast.

Then, dressed neatly in a charcoal-gray knit and a black long coat, he stepped out into the chilly April air.

The small bell above the café door chimed softly.

Ding-ling!

And a bright voice greeted him.

“Welcome!”

Ji-an froze.
That voice.

When he looked up, there she was.

Park Yeon-ha.

She blinked in surprise, then broke into a radiant smile.

“Oh! Senior! What a coincidence! To see you this early in the morning… maybe this is fate?”

Ji-an arched an eyebrow. “Or someone’s planning.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. I’m not that obsessed, you know.”

It was the same café he stopped by every morning for coffee.
And the same café, apparently, where Yeon-ha now worked part-time.

It wouldn’t have been far-fetched to think she’d taken the job just to see him.
But her easy, teasing tone made it hard to tell if she was joking—or deadly serious.

He sighed and placed his order.

While waiting, he couldn’t help glancing at her.

Her hair was tied up in a neat bun without bangs, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. A few wisps had escaped, curling slightly against pale skin untouched by sunlight.

Her eyebrows were soft, her eyes round and bright. When she smiled, they curved prettily, and her lips—small but full—were naturally red.

Yes, she was pretty.
Too bad she was also that freshman—the one who drunkenly confessed on stage during the university retreat.

The memory made Ji-an exhale heavily just as the pickup bell buzzed.

“Order’s ready! Enjoy your drink, senior!”

He grabbed the steaming cup of Americano, glancing briefly at her cheerful face.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to switch cafés just because of me?” she teased.

“I wasn’t planning to. Until just now.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! The coffee here’s the best around campus. Are you really going to give that up just to avoid me?”

She wasn’t wrong.

The café roasted its own beans, and Ji-an had been a loyal customer since his first year. The flavor was unmatched anywhere else nearby.

Yeon-ha winked playfully.
“So please keep coming, okay? I’m here every weekday—open till eleven!”

Ji-an said nothing and walked out.

She was ridiculous.
No—hopeless.

And yet, that wasn’t enough to make him quit his favorite coffee spot.

Still, every morning now, his day began the same way:
a coffee, and Park Yeon-ha’s voice following him out the door.

By the end of the week, it was getting under his skin.

“Maybe I should just change cafés after all,” he muttered.

But then he stopped.

That would feel like losing.
Like admitting she’d gotten to him.

No. That wasn’t going to happen.

In truth, he should never have agreed to her ridiculous “three confession” deal in the first place.

He’d assumed she was shallow—just another lighthearted girl who’d lose interest once rejected.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Yeon-ha was tireless.
She filled every semester with a full course load, tutored after classes, and still managed to rank near the top of her department.

Her commute was infamous: from her family home in Gyeonggi-do, she took the first train in and the last train out every day.

When her morning classes were canceled this term, she’d immediately picked up a part-time job at the café.

Ji-an had once thought it was just to be near him.
Now he knew better.

It was simply survival.

One afternoon, he overheard her talking to a classmate in the hallway.

“I can’t afford study abroad or exchange programs,” she said, smiling faintly.
“So I’m trading in my youth instead. If I keep my grades up, maybe I’ll have a chance at a decent job later.”

That single remark changed something in him.

From then on, he couldn’t dismiss her so easily.
Her bright smiles, her daily greetings—they weren’t as light as he’d thought.

And so, when she sometimes appeared with weary eyes and just stood silently in front of him for a moment, looking up as if drawing breath—

he stopped pushing her away.

He let her stay.

He didn’t understand what she meant when she called it “healing,”
but he noticed—

“Whenever she looks at me,” he realized,
“she smiles a little brighter when she leaves.”

Maybe that was enough.

It wasn’t affection.
It wasn’t interest.

It was, he told himself—

“Just a small kindness for a tired junior.”

A tiny mercy.
A single pebble he chose not to kick aside.