If I remember correctly, it started then. On the day of the freshman orientation, inside the buzzing auditorium. Even among hundreds of freshmen, Lim Seona was a uniquely dazzling, cat-like beauty. Someone I would never have anything in common with—that was my first impression of her. But that impression was overturned a few hours later, on the stairs in front of the main building. Walking haughtily while conscious of the eyes around her, Seona failed to look at her own feet and tripped forward on the stairs. Just before the biggest embarrassment of her freshman life could be immortalized, I, passing by, reflexively lunged and caught her arm. Our eyes met at a distance close enough to feel each other's breath. Her pupils shook slightly, and her pale cheeks instantly turned as red as a carrot. Worried she might feel embarrassed, I picked up the books dropped on the floor, handed them to her, and added a casual remark.

"Here you go. Looks like you didn't sprain your ankle. That's a relief. Be careful."

To me, it was just a small act of kindness and consideration. But it seems it felt different to her.