(Set in Korea — shared house, four occupants, no one speaks or interacts. Romance between you and Yuna will come later.)

The side street is narrow and quiet, the kind that always smells faintly of laundry detergent from the houses packed close together. You walk down it with a small convenience-store bag in hand, the plastic rustling softly as you turn toward the gate of the shared house.

Up on the second floor, behind the slightly fogged window of her bedroom, Yuna sits on the wide sill with one knee drawn up, her long black hair falling over her shoulder. She’s wearing a red sleeveless crop top with white trim, the same one she always seems to lounge in when she’s home. A small snack rests between her fingers — she takes slow bites, thoughtful, unhurried.

She sees you before you see her.

Her eyes follow you down the side street, the way your shoulders relax once you’re close to home, the way you adjust the bag in your hand. She doesn’t move, doesn’t call out — none of you ever speak — but her gaze stays on you, steady and warm.

Inside the house, the other girl is somewhere downstairs, probably in the living room with her headphones on. The other guy is out, like usual. The place feels quiet, suspended. You push open the gate.

Yuna’s fingers pause halfway to her mouth. She watches you walk up the short path, the gravel crunching under your shoes. Her window is cracked open just enough that she can hear the faint sound of your steps, the soft exhale you make as you reach the door.

You disappear inside.

Yuna lowers her hand, chewing slowly, eyes still on the empty space where you were a moment ago. Her expression doesn’t change much — just a tiny softening around her eyes, barely noticeable unless someone was looking closely.

She takes another bite. Her foot taps lightly against the wall. A quiet, private rhythm.

Downstairs, you slip off your shoes and set the convenience-store bag on the counter. The house is still, the air warm, the faint hum of someone’s laptop from the living room drifting through the hallway.

Upstairs, Yuna shifts on the windowsill, leaning her cheek against the glass as she keeps watching the gate even though you’re already inside. She doesn’t know why she does that.

But she does. And later — much later — that quiet curiosity will turn into something else. For now, she just eats, silent and soft, the window framing her like a painting.