It had been a week since I first saw Gunwoo—and I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head. In the nights, I’d find myself trying to look for a distraction (quite desperately at that) from pulling out my sketchbook and drawing him (without the smirk, of course, that still irritated me).

I knew there was something about him. Maybe he liked me, or maybe he just found me strange. I guess it could be the latter, because I wasn’t like most of the girls in my school, i.e. gossipy, conscious, outright mean, vulgar. I was more… reserved. Then again, I wasn’t, in other ways. But if it were the former, why would he like me?

It hadn’t crossed my mind, then, why anyone would like me. I wasn’t anyone special, I didn’t have magical abilities to attract guys, I didn’t have the gift of gab, I didn’t wear my skirt hitched up way above my knees, I didn’t flirt with guys. I was just Im Yoona—plain old, and normal me.

Gunwoo was in most of my classes. A lot of them, actually, and for some reason, he would always arrive moments after me and sit beside me. And throughout the class I would feel that his gaze was on me. It was increasingly uncomfortable, but I kept it to myself.

Minho must’ve noticed a change in my behaviour (the fact that I was more wary and cautious), because one day in art class, when we were painting on a canvas, he sat on the other side of me and asked me a question.

“Hey, Yoona, do you like anyone?” He popped the question just like that, as if he were asking if I had eaten breakfast that morning.

I tried to process my thoughts carefully, but because Gunwoo was next to me, I was self-conscious. I decided to switch to my logical and reasonable (but stubborn side), and answer in the most normal voice I had.

“No. Why would I? Relationships are stupid. It’s our last year anyway, what’s the point?” I said pointedly, though it came out a little strained.

Minho stared at my artwork and thought about my answer while I cleared my throat. The theme for the class was ‘Change’, and I had portrayed it with a black-and-white versus coloured painting of the same street, before and after. From the corner of my eye I also spotted Gunwoo looking at my canvas. Discreetly, I shifted the canvas stand with my foot, so it faced me and Minho rather than me and Gunwoo.

“I see. Are you sure?” He asked again and I looked at him. The thing was, Minho wasn’t a guy who asked questions twice.

“O-of course I’m sure, Minho.” I looked away, stammering slightly.

And then he returned to his own artwork, humming and tapping his foot. I was glad he didn’t ask more.

The rest of the art class, I put my focus on the artwork, and occasionally I’d steal glances at Gunwoo’s artwork. He had portrayed change with the four seasons. Simple, but he was pretty good. But I tried as hard as I could to not stare. His were large and careless, but it seemed he paid attention to details. The small lines of the leaves, those veins, the branches, the outline of the trees, they were all taken into consideration. It was a stark contrast to the absence of detail of the artwork in general. But I was drawn to it, nonetheless.

“Class is over, you may continue to stay in class to continue or go to your next class, but as far as I know a lot of you have free period next.” Mr. Park said.

Everyone left, except for Gunwoo and I. Minho tapped my back and waved at me before slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving. I nodded, acknowledging his leave. Mr. Park then walked over slowly, watching both of us concentrate intently on our artwork.

“Ms. Im, very interesting artwork, I like how you made use of colour in it. Now, if only you allowed me to showcase it.” Mr. Park shook his head, sighing.

I could only chuckle darkly. He and I both knew I would never show anyone my artwork, even more so to the public.

“Mr. Lee,” his tone was raised, slightly surprised, “Good detail. You have some talent there, kid, I see potential.”

Gunwoo smirked. I rolled my eyes as I casted a side-glance just to catch that. Mr. Park patted his back affectionately, and then bent down to scrutinize his artwork. In the next half hour, I actually managed to focus and finish. As I finished the final outline, I stood up, proud of my work and handed it over to Mr. Park.

“As expected, Ms. Im, very well done.” Mr. Park praised. I nodded and picked up my bag to leave. As I stepped out of the classroom, I heard Mr. Park saying, “Good job Mr. Lee, really good job.”

And then I turned into the hallway, making my way to Math class. Someone was following me, and with that lazy shuffling of footsteps, I was almost completely sure that it was Gunwoo. I couldn’t care less though. Just keep walking, Yoona.

A hand grabbed my arm firmly before I could enter the classroom. Reluctantly, I turned, and there was Gunwoo. I folded my arms and looked at him, holding a steady gaze, unable to meet his eyes but I looked at his nose. That way (I learnt from Minho), he would think I was looking into his eyes when I really wasn’t.

“What do you want?” I asked curtly.

“I just wanted to say that I liked your canvas artwork.” With that, he dropped my arm and walked off.

Before he turned, I could have sworn I saw a genuine smile. That didn’t do anything to me at first, but later, I had no idea why my heart began to thump hard against my chest.

What is wrong with me?