A Forever Love for Benjamin

Benjamin’s POV At last, I slip behind the wheel of my very own car—not to get scolded, but to drive myself to campus with a freshly minted license in my hand. It’s the biggest victory I’ve ever claimed: stepping out from under my parents’ roof and writing my own rulebook as a wide‑eyed freshman. Yearks Town might be a dot on the map, but our university ranks among America’s finest, standing shoulder to shoulder with institutions in the biggest cities. And yes, I feel the privilege that comes with being the Park heir—my last name still opens doors and raises a few impressed eyebrows. We haven’t officially met, so allow me to introduce myself: I’m Benjamin Park—half Korean, half French, and wholly determined to make this new chapter mine. Who knows what surprises await in this charming little town— New Yearks. - The main hall buzzed with voices and excitement—a space big enough to double as a sports arena. Freshmen filled the place, wide-eyed and hopeful. I scanned the sea of faces, not realizing that my eyes should’ve been on the path ahead. Boom. I crashed into someone, hard enough to knock me off my feet. Damn it. That was embarrassing. Thankfully, my head was still intact. A hand reached out to me. “Sorry!” I looked up—and my breath caught. A girl. Burgundy hair, porcelain skin untouched by freckles, and the kind of face you’d expect to see buried in a Jane Austen novel. English. Beautiful. But something felt… off. My body felt unusually weak. And my brain? Completely fried. I didn’t take her hand. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the way her annoyingly sweet smile didn’t match her tiny frame. Either way, I picked up my bag from the floor and muttered, “No need,” before walking off. A few people chuckled behind us. Great. What a perfect way to start my first day. ⸻ The opening ceremony felt like it lasted forever. I sat in the front row—one of the ten students accepted through the achievement route. I should’ve been proud. But I wasn’t, because guess who was standing beside me? Burgundy-hair girl. Apparently, she had the highest score of all. Great—smart and strong. Just what I needed. Her outfit didn’t help either. Plain dark green shirt tucked into boring black flared pants. Old New Balance sneakers. She wasn’t my type—not even close—and never would be. Then the Dean started calling our names, one by one. When mine was called, I stepped forward… and so did she. We were handed keys to a special dorm and a student privilege card—rewards for keeping our grades high throughout the semester. After the ceremony, they told us we were free for the day. No classes yet, but a big student festival awaited, showcasing every campus club and activity. Attendance was “highly encouraged.” I followed the sign pointing to the Faculty of Arts. My major? Contemporary dance. I was just walking in when she appeared again, keeping pace beside me. She turned slightly, eyes avoiding mine, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You chose this major too?” we asked at the exact same time. Our eyes met, and I groaned inwardly. This again? She gave a small nod. “About earlier… I’m sorry.” That stirred something in me again. “Not your fault,” I replied quickly, eyes forward. “I was just on a break from strength training anyway.” Which was true. But still—I should’ve seen her coming. - This campus… it’s impressive. But of course, it has to be. I’ve always had a soft spot for anything related to the arts. Getting here wasn’t easy—especially when you have to go against Jim In, aka my father, aka the walking definition of perfectionism. Dad used to be a big-name singer in a Korean band back in the day. A legend, really. That legacy? A heavy crown. But if my dad’s world revolves around music, then I—lucky me—have a bit more balance. Thanks to my mom, Nora Claire, a former ballet dancer from France. She gave up her stage for love, married Dad, and built her own ballet school—funded, obviously, by my billionaire father. A romantic gesture, sure. But also a reminder: when you’re born to two perfectionists, you either become great… or crushed. I’ve been trained by some of the most respected dance instructors out there. But now, I want to shape my own path. That’s why I chose contemporary dance. And more importantly—here, no one knows who I really am. Joanna and Justin, twins from the senior class, were assigned to escort the top ten freshmen through the festival. They were both stylish, their fashion clearly curated. Unlike her. Burgundy-hair girl was nowhere to be seen. “I haven’t seen her at all,” said a girl with a buzzcut when Joanna asked around. “New kids always make trouble,” Joanna muttered. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t lump us all together. Some of us have been following your boring tour without causing any trouble.” She shot me a death glare. Justin smirked. “Watch your mouth, freshman,” Justin suddenly snapped, his face shifting from friendly to threatening in a blink. “I was talking to your sister, not you. Or is that illegal now?” Justin stepped toward me, and I braced myself—until out of nowhere, she appeared again. The red-haired girl shoved Justin backward, sending him stumbling to the ground with a loud thud. “What’s your problem?!” Justin barked, clutching his side. He looked more shocked than hurt, but the tension skyrocketed. Before things got uglier, I grabbed her hand and dragged her away from the crowd. We ended up under a shady tree, far from the chaos. “Do you have to keep causing problems?” I hissed. “He was going to hit you.” “Not your business! And are you even a dancer? Or some kind of undercover athlete?” My voice rose. My frustration from this morning’s run-in came flooding back. “Sorry,” she murmured, head down. “And where have you been?” I snapped again. “I can’t be in the sun too long.” “Why? Are you a vampire or something? Your skin looks fine to me.” She glanced up, eyes narrowed. “You’ve watched way too many romance movies. I just get thirsty fast. It’s annoying.” “You’re dramatic. And you owe the others an apology when we get back to the dorm.” The thought that we’d be in the same dorm made my stomach twist. Close proximity? Not ideal. Especially when accidental bumps could lead to… whatever that weird feeling was earlier. She held out her hand. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Joy Grace. You can call me Joy.” I shook her hand quickly. “Benjamin Park. Don’t call me. And keep your distance.” “Got it. Sorry—again.” She turned to leave. “Where are you going?” I asked without thinking. “Nothing left to do here. I’m heading to the dorm to unpack.” -