Saying my university is big is a misunderstanding. It's enormous. Taking a walk from one end to the other takes half of an hour. That's why some of the students use scooters or skateboards. Some minor accidents happen, but nobody makes it a bit thing.

Huge university means huge everything. Including the library. Thousands of books waiting to be read. All of them available only for us, students. In this place people can find everything. Traditional Korean books, French books, English books. Whatever they're interested in. They can find every single genre and probably every single writer.

In this very library students can do everything for as long as they stay quiet and don't disturb the others, like in every single library. There is a sofa, tables for groups and single desks for those who want to study in silence. We can even go to sleep here if we have a long break. There're also pillows in the corner that we can just take and sit on it under a bookshelf if we wish. 

Here, people can focus on whatever they want to. Their thoughts, doing homework, music, books, rain behind the window, even some warm tea.

It's a very comfy place with it's own atmosphere that I really love. 

I've found my favourite spot under the section of Dante Alighieri. It may seem a bit weird, but this library has everything organized alphabetically by the author and then their books yet again alphabetically. I would always get myself a pillow, sit down under it and read on every Tuesday and Friday.   

A few minutes after me there would come a really beautiful girl and sit a few meters away.

I've seen her so many times in this very place. She would always sit here with her legs crossed, blanket over her and a book in her hands. 

She would sometimes change books from one to another, sometimes genres. But every time that I took a glance at her, she would have an expression reflecting what was happening in t the book. 

She would look angry if a character she liked has died. She would raise her eyebrows when something sad or confusing happened. She would smile when something funny or happy happened. 

In short form, she was emotional about every single story she read.

She would sometimes catch me staring. She wasn't upset or mad about it. She would always smile at me or wave, which would make me feel flustered. 

It could seem a bit creepy, the staring I mean, but she was really beautiful. Especially when she smiled. 

Her eyes were brown and deep. Her hair was often neatly brushed, sometimes in a messy bun if it disturbed her reading session. Her cheeks looked really squishable. She had a mole right under her eyebrow and she looked really young. Perhaps younger than me by a year or two. Her clothes were always clean and neat. Mostly in bright, summer colours despite the cold Spring outside.

I would always sit a few meters apart under another bookshelf. I would be distracted by her beauty almost every time I would get to see her, but I would appreciate every second of her presence.

She would come here every Tuesday and Friday at 4pm, read for two hours, then go home. She would never come earlier or later. She would never leave earlier or later.

Sometimes she would drink tea, sometimes she would listen to music and hardly ever just sit there, thinking of something or writing something in her notebook.

She once went somewhere for a few minutes and I had a chance to steal a glance at her writing. 

After reading first words, I realised it wasn't a story in any way. Those were her thoughts. About the world that surrounded her. About some people, probably her colleagues. About her parents. Sometimes those were just random thoughts that seemed to bother her. 

I felt bad. It was some sort of a private space I just came into. Her own world I barged into. I wanted to apologize as quickly as possible, but I also wanted to make it a secret not to betray her trust. 

There was one thing that I learned. Her name. A beautiful name just as beautiful as the girl herself. 

Kim Yong-sun. 

The girl that seemed so close, yet so distant, in which I always managed to discover something new, had become a person for which I developed feelings despite the fact I never really talked to her.

For one week she didn't come here at all. Not even for a second. I got worried. The always so punctual girl was absent. I don't quite understand why I felt that way. Maybe she was busy, maybe she was sick. And maybe, just maybe, she found someone to spend her afternoons with. 

This thought made me feel a tad bit sad. 

Although, after a week has passed, I came to the library with a book of my choice and a pillow in the other hand. I was prepared not to see her there, but she was sitting on my spot. 

I had an internal conflict. Walk up to her and ask her to sit somewhere else or just find another place to read. 

I wasn't a really shy person, but I wasn’t a social butterfly either. I didn’t have much friends and I would always have a problem talking to strangers. Especially if it was me who was supposed to start the conversation.

After a while of thinking, seemingly unnoticed by her, I decided to be brave and confident this time. Thus, I made my way towards her. Each step made me feel more and more anxious. Before I could rethink the entire situation and make up my mind to turn back, I stood above her. 

She finished reading a sentence, then looked up at me with a questioning look.  

"Hey, I'm sorry for disturbing, but it's my spot. Could you please move your stuff and sit somewhere else?" I said shyly. I didn't want to make too much noise and catch too much attention.

"Just sit next to me then. It's a really good spot, no wonder you like it." She offered with a smile. The woman in front of me had a really adorable smile. Her chubby cheeks made her seem friendlier and more approachable.

"Huh?" I was confused. I thought I heard something wrong. It was unusual to me. To meet a stranger who wouldn't just yell at me and tell me to go find another spot. 

“Yeah. The wind from this window doesn’t blow here and the light is good.” She explained. “Come on, sit here. Unless you really don’t want to.” She patted the floor right next to her with the same smile and motioned me to do so.

After a few seconds of staring, which I thought would creep her out, I sat down on my pillow. I was close enough to feel the heat of her body, hear her calm breathing and smell her perfumes. The girl offered me her smile for the last time before getting back to reading. I looked at her book before opening my own.

'Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.' 

I managed to read before she flipped the page. "Inferno." I said quietly. More to myself than to anyone else.

She looked at me, blinking several times. "You know this book?" 

"Of course. I've read it for at least 3 times before." I said, playing with the ring on my finger. 

"You must be a fan of Dante then." She said as she scanned my face.

"I wouldn't call myself a fan, but I do love his poetry." 

"Your spot is literally right next to Dante’s section.” She frowned. “So, which part of the »Divine Comedy« is your favourite?" She asked as she closed the book and turned to my side to look into my eyes properly.

I looked into her eyes, lost myself in them for a spare second, then responded "The part in which Beatrice gives him a tour around the heaven."

"Ahh, I see. It's really meaningful."

"Of course it is. Beatrice was his first love. Maybe they weren't the softest couple and they expressed their love in a quite... Controversial way, but he thought of her as of an angel so she was the one who has lead him through the heaven." I said. After finishing I heard her adorable chuckle. "What?" I raised an eyebrow, confused. 

"Nothing." She chuckled again. "You know quite a lot for a person who isn't a fan." 

"It's basic knowledge on my major." I looked down on my lap. I felt kind of embarrassed. I was never a talkative person, but she made me spill out many words. Way too many. 

"What's your major?" She asked in a sweet tone. 

"History of art. What's yours?"

"French philology." She answered as I felt my heart skip a beat or two. I always wanted to go for the French philology, but my friend, Wheein, convinced me to go for the history of art. It’s not that I didn’t like art. It’s just that I didn’t feel it at all before. 

"Ah, I see. Our blocks are far away. No wonder I see you so rarely." I said then sighed deeply. I’ve really been wondering why I could only see her in the library on certain days. 

History of art was in the block number 2 while French philology was in the block 9. They were separated from each other with 4 other blocks and a small park. Even if we had classes in other blocks because of some renovations, they would always be in the block next to us. We had block no. 1 and French philology had block no. 8. That made us almost impossible to meet randomly on the corridor. 

"Unfortunately." 

"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow again. I thought I misheard her.

"Unfortunately. You seem like a great person to talk to. Educated and kind."

"Your words flatter me truly, but believe me, I'm neither entertaining nor educated."

"Ah, come on. Don't be so stiff and formal. We're not in the class and I'm not a teacher."

"You're too young for a teacher."

"You mean too uneducated?"

"No, not dumb. I really meant young. You look so young I never took that as an option. You being a teacher I mean.”

"Hey, don't be cocky. I'm 23."

"I'm, sorry. I didn't mean to." I bowed my head in an apologetic way.

She chuckled softly. I felt my heart beating faster. "It's fine. How old are you?" She asked.

"I'm 22." I answered. I thought she was younger than me because of her beauty type.

"How ironic. I thought you're older than me."

"And I thought you're younger than me." 

"So we both judged the book by it's cover." She summarised and I nodded. 

"We did. It's a thing that such a bookworm as you or me should never do." I commented with a slight smile on my face. 

“Oh well. Even experts make mistakes.” We both laughed then fell into a comfortable silence, just looking into each others eyes.

I was never a fan of love story books, but I would sometimes read them for the sake of getting to know th