Fate in Seoul

The Arrogant Classmate

The lecture hall was enormous, nothing like the cramped classrooms back in Delhi. Wide rows of desks, shining projectors, students chatting in fluent Korean. My nerves tightened with every step I took.

I found a seat in the second row, clutching my notebook. My scholarship had placed me among Korea’s brightest, and I couldn’t afford to fail.

But the moment I sat, my gaze fell on him.

He leaned back in his seat at the front row, his long fingers tapping lazily against his notebook, eyes half-lidded as if the world bored him. He looked nothing like the arrogant customer from the café and yet, exactly the same. Cold. Untouchable.

My stomach sank. Of all the people in Seoul… why him?

The professor entered, adjusting his glasses. “Welcome to Advanced Business Strategy. Today, we’ll start with introductions.”

One by one, students stood and introduced themselves. When Jihoon’s turn came, the room seemed to shift.

“Jihoon Park,” he said simply, voice steady, confident. A ripple of whispers moved across the hall. Everyone knew him.

Of course they did. He was probably rich, important, everything I wasn’t.

When my turn came, I rose nervously. “Ananya Kapoor… from India. Architecture student, on scholarship.”

A pause. A few polite claps. A few curious stares. My cheeks warmed.

Then, just as I sat, I heard a quiet chuckle. From him.

I snapped my head up. Jihoon was smirking. Smirking.

The professor began the lecture, talking about case studies, but my focus was gone. That smirk burned in my mind.

“Your first assignment,” the professor announced an hour later, “will be done in pairs. I’ll assign them randomly.”

Students groaned. My palms sweated. Please, anyone but him.

“Ananya Kapoor…” the professor scanned the list, then smiled. “You’ll be working with Jihoon Park.”

The universe clearly hated me.

I froze. Jihoon turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine. That same arrogant smirk tugged at his lips.

Great. Just great.

As students filtered out, I gathered my books, trying to escape quickly. But Jihoon was already at the door, waiting.

“So…” he drawled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “The coffee girl is also my partner.”

I stiffened. “My name is Ananya.”

“Ananya,” he repeated, his accent wrapping around the syllables. “Scholarship student. Coffee waitress. Quite the résumé.”

Anger flared in my chest. “And yours? Arrogant customer. Classmate who can’t mind his own business.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Fiery. This might actually be fun.”

I brushed past him, refusing to let him see how much he rattled me.

But deep inside, I already knew: Jihoon Park was going to change everything.