I have always enjoyed morning classes. Yeah, yeah, everyone says they are hell. I mean, there really isn’t anything particularly pleasurable about waking up at 6 and running to get to a 7:30 lecture. But what I like is the quiet campus. The morning air is brisk, it’s the start of a term. January. Cold but no snow. My tea warming my left hand. Light wind in my face, my hair blocks my view. It’s relaxing.

I walk down the long and empty corridor to find my class. Recheck the schedule, recheck the door number, check my watch, 7 minutes till class. I take a deep breath. In the room, it’s small, about four rows of two person desks, with people scattered throughout. Walking in, I take a seat in the desk closest to the door. Then its time to wait. 6 minutes. I take out my new textbook, the syllabus, my notebook. I glance at my watch. 5 minutes. I roll my eyes. Sip of tea. I recoil, still too hot to drink. 5 and a half minutes. The impatience sets in. My leg starts to bounce and I glance around the room. The class ranges from people who look like they plan to show up every day, and then some who look like they actually don’t care. It times like this when I miss my high school, most of my classes were highly demanding and everyone in them knew that and enjoyed it. Here it’s different. It’s a mix, and it’s confusing. 3 minutes. People fill up the desks, the back is denser than the front. Each newcomer picks a desk mate they feel won’t mind them and is far from the front. I’m alone. And I don’t mind. 1 and a half minutes. There’s a window, the class is on the second floor, and the view would be nice if it weren’t for the leafless tree in the way. You can see a walking area from here, you can see miles from here.

A short man in khakis and scowl walks in. The door is closed. The waiting is over. “Good morning cla—“ He was interrupted by three knocks on the door and two eyes poking in. They were empty but pleading. The teacher grunts and opens the door. “You’re late.” He says, the boy in the door with disheveled hair looks at the teacher “I’m sorry, this will not happen again, I went to the wrong building, sir.” The teacher looks him over, the boy is awake, he doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed. He’s dressed, which is more than you can say for over half of the class. He’s panting, and has probably been running. The teacher lets it slide.

 “Your first strike came so soon, Mr. …”

“Taehyung, Kim Taehyug, sir.” The boy responds.

“Mr. Kim Taehyung,” the teacher drags each syllable, “Be sure to go to the right building next time, now have a seat.”

The disheveled haired boy sits next to me and gives me a small smile of greeting. He turns away before I could smile back. We look at the teacher, who begins going over our class syllabus. Art History. A class I’m familiar with. I feel good about this course.

“This class will not be easy. It will require studying. It will require writing. It will require discussion.” The teacher’s monotone voice drags. A slow voice so early means sleep for most. I fight it. I look around. 4 have fallen asleep. 3 are looking out the window with headphones in. 5 are on their phones. The rest are doing what I’m doing. Avoiding eye contact of anyone. Until I look back at the teacher. Luckily just in time for real instruction. Or real-ish.

“I’m going to read down the list of names, and each of you will give me a fact about you and why you took this class.” He begins reading, one by one I hear the names I will forget by tomorrow. In my head I rehears the words I’m going to say, name, watercolor, pass time, name, watercolor pass time, over and over until “Park Na Ri” My head snaps up, my stomach drops. Here we go.

“Hi, uh, my name is Park Na Ri, I really enjoy painting with watercolor and I took this class because art is my favorite pass time.” I looked at the teacher, he nodded. I was clear. He looks down and reads “Kim Taehyung” The boy next to me does a similar head snap and millisecond panic and begins, “Like he said, I’m Kim Taehyung, fun fact is…” He looks up, thinking, “I enjoy playing the guitar, and I’m here because my major is graphic design, a little history will help with that I think.” He sits down and let out a deep sigh of relief. I huffed a small laugh. “What?” He asks, brows furrowed. “Oh, uh, I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just, uh that you sighed and no one else but me did that so I laughed sorry.” I wish I didn’t laugh. He probably thinks I was laughing at him. Which I wasn’t but he thinks that. God this is why I have like negative friends.

To my intense, massive relief his face softens. “Good, I thought you were judging me or something.” He smiles, a small one, shy but friendly. I smile back. He breaks eye contact first. I then look down at my still empty note book. Maybe this term things will be different. Maybe I’ll have a desk mate. The teacher continues calling names and learning faces.

Finally, when there was about 10 minutes left in the class, he grabs our attention. “Just so you all are clear, this is a hard course. It requires memorization. Study groups will be your best friend.” He pauses and my heart starts to race, oh no, people. “It’s your first day, talk to each other meet someone.” He turns and sits at his desk. The room is initially silent, and I look at my still empty notebook. I pick up my pen and start writing nothing to look busy. A few minutes pass. A clearing of the throat grabs my attention, its Taehyung. “Hi.” He says plainly. His eyes have a hold of mine, and I find it hard to keep eye contact. “Hey” I manage, somehow. “So, since you are the only one I’ve talked to so far, and probably one of the only people I will talk to, want to study together?” He proposed this so easily, so simply. I can’t say he was calm, but he did it. It was more than I could do. “Sure,” I pause, remember to smile, “You’re the only person who will probably ask me so sure.” His face stretches into a smile. “Good.” My smile turns real.

“So if we are going to be study buddies I think I should know something about you.” He looks at me and waits for an answer. “Well, my name is Park Na Ri, but you probably already knew that,” I pause. I don’t know what to say. What do I do? What am I like? “Uh, I like doing portraits of people.” He nods. “And Na Ri, is that why you took this course? Are you an art major” It’s more comfortable now. It’s a question I can answer. I laugh, “Hell no, I need to make money. I’m a teaching major, hopefully secondary literature.” He laughs too. Confidence up, “So who are you and why are you here?” I ask him. “I’m Taehyung, and I’m sure you already knew that,” We laugh, “and I’m here because I’m a graphic design major.”  The teacher stands up again and informs us that tomorrow our class starts for real. And the class ends.

I pack up my bags and head out. As I’m walking Taehyung catches up with me. “Hey Na Ri?” I look at him, he’s much taller than me. He’s even looking down at me. “Yeah?” I respond, wondering if he’s going to say he found someone else or something. “Same seats tomorrow?” I just nod. We walk out together. Not talking. Not wanting to talk.