THE OTHER SIDE OF YOU

CHAPTER 3: THE PRESENCE IN ROW THREE

The air in Lecture Hall 402 always smelled the same: a mixture of floor wax, old wood, and the stale caffeine of a hundred students trying to survive a Monday. Usually, this environment was Nari’s sanctuary. Here, she wasn't a daughter failing to meet expectations or a woman hiding behind a phone screen. She was Professor Kim. She was the authority.But today, the sanctuary felt compromised.Nari adjusted the lapels of her cream silk blouse, her fingers trembling just enough that she had to clench them into a fist. The voice-memo from Ren was still echoing in her mind that low, honey-thick "Hey, Butterfly" that had effectively melted her professional composure into a puddle.

Focus, Nari, she scolded herself, setting her leather briefcase on the podium with a decisive thud. You have a syllabus to get through.She didn't look up at the class immediately. She went through her ritual: opening her laptop, connecting the HDMI cable, and arranging her laser pointer exactly parallel to the edge of the desk. Only when the projector hummed to life, casting the title "Human Topography: The Scars of Migration" onto the screen, did she finally lift her chin to face the room.The hall was three-quarters full. Freshmen with wide, panicked eyes; seniors looking for an easy elective; and the usual suspects in the back row who were already opening bags of chips.And then, there was the third row .Nari’s breath caught in the back of her throat, a sharp, physical hitch that she managed to disguise as a cough. Sitting slightly off-center was a student she didn't recognize. He wasn't wearing a hoodie or a university-branded t-shirt. He wore a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked far too sculpted for someone who spent their nights studying. His hair was dark, styled in a way that looked effortless but spoke of expensive barbers, and he wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that should have made him look studious. Instead, they only served to draw attention to the sharp, predatory line of his jaw.He wasn't looking at his phone.

He wasn't talking to a neighbor. He was looking at her.His gaze wasn't the bored stare of a student; it was intense, weighted, and strangely familiar. It felt like the way Ren’s voice sounded heavy and constant.Nari felt a flush of heat crawl up her neck. She quickly looked down at her roster, her eyes blurring over the names.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she said, her voice sounding a pitch higher than she intended. She cleared her throat and tried again, projecting the cold, academic tone she had spent years perfecting. "I am Professor Kim Nari. Welcome to Geography 101."The class settled. The rustle of paper and the clicking of laptops filled the silence."Before we begin," Nari continued, her eyes intentionally avoiding Row Three,

"I want to make one thing clear. This is not an 'easy A' elective. Geography is not just about drawing lines on a map; it is about how we, as humans, scar the earth and how the earth, in turn, scars us. If you are here for a nap, the library is down the hall."A few students shifted uncomfortably. Yena always told her she was too intimidating, but Nari used it as armor. If she was scary, they wouldn't look too closely. If she was cold, they wouldn't see the woman who called a stranger "Babycakes" an hour ago.

"Now, the syllabus is available on the portal," Nari said, clicking her laser pointer. "We will begin today with the concept of 'Emotional Topography' , the idea that our physical environment is shaped by the collective trauma and triumphs of the people who inhabit it."As she spoke, she found her rhythm. She moved across the front of the hall, her gestures precise. She loved this subject. She loved how a mountain range wasn't just a tectonic shift, but a barrier that determined the language, religion, and soul of the people on either side of it.But every time she turned, she felt his eyes.He was taking notes slowly, deliberate strokes of a pen.

But he wasn't looking at the screen. He was watching the way she moved. He was watching the way she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.Halfway through the lecture, Nari paused to take a sip of water. Her hand shook slightly as she lifted the glass."Professor?" The voice was deep. It wasn't the cracking, uncertain voice of a twenty-year-old. It was resonant, smooth, and it sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down Nari's spine.She turned slowly. It was him. The student in Row Three.He was leaning back slightly, his pen balanced between two fingers. "You mentioned that emotional topography is shaped by trauma," he said. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying challenge in it that made Nari’s pulse spike. "But wouldn't you agree that the most permanent scars on a landscape aren't made by tragedy, but by obsession? By the desperate need to own something that wasn't meant to be caught?"The room went silent. The other students turned to look at him, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.Nari stared at him. For a moment, she forgot she was in a lecture hall. She was caught in the depths of his eyes, dark, intelligent, and brimming with a secret she couldn't decipher .Obsession.

The word felt like a brand."Obsession is a fleeting human emotion, Mr...?" she trailed off, her eyes searching the roster on her podium."Dae," he said, his voice dropping slightly.

"Kang Dae."Nari looked at the paper. Kang Dae. Transfer student. 24 years old."Mr. Kang," she said, reclaiming her voice.

"Obsession may drive the initial movement, but it is the long-term settlement and stability that leaves a mark. Scars are not formed in a moment of passion. They are formed through the endurance of it."Dae smiled. It wasn't a wide smile; it was a slow, knowing tilt of the lips that made Nari feel like he was seeing straight through her silk blouse, through her professional skin, all the way to her pounding heart."Endurance," he repeated softly, as if he were tasting the word.

"I'll keep that in mind, Professor."Nari turned back to the screen so quickly she almost tripped over the laptop cord. Her heart was racing so fast she was sure the microphone pinned to her collar would broadcast it to the whole room.She finished the lecture in a blur, her words coming out faster and faster. The moment the clock struck 2:00 PM, she didn't even wait for questions.

"That's all for today. Please read Chapter One before Wednesday," she announced, practically fleeing toward her briefcase.She kept her head down as the students began to file out. She heard the chatter, the zipping of backpacks, the shuffle of feet. She waited, counting the seconds, waiting for the room to empty so she could breathe."Professor?".She froze.She looked up. The hall was empty, except for one person.Kang Dae was standing at the edge of her podium. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. He was significantly taller than her and he carried a scent of expensive sandalwood and something cold, like winter air."You forgot this," he said. He held out a small, silver pen. Her favorite pen. The one Ren had told her to use because "important women should write with intent." She must have dropped it when she was packing. "Thank you," she said, reaching for it. As she took the pen, his fingers brushed against hers.It wasn't a mistake. It was a deliberate, lingering contact. His skin was warm, and the touch sent a shock through her system that made her breath hitch.

Nari pulled her hand back as if she’d been burned. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and defensive. "Is there something else, Mr. Kang?" Dae looked at her for a long beat. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to say a thousand things, but instead, he just tilted his head."You're different than I expected," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?" "Your lectures," he corrected smoothly, though the smirk remained. "They're more... passionate than the course description suggested. I think I'm going to enjoy this semester, Professor."He turned and walked toward the exit, his movements effortless and confident. Nari stood behind the podium, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She looked down at the silver pen in her hand, then back at the door where he had disappeared. Butterfly. The word popped into her head for no reason at all.

She felt a sudden, desperate urge to check her phone, to talk to Ren, to find the safety of the digital world.But as she clutched the pen, she realized her hand was still tingling where he had touched her. And for the first time in six months, the voice in her head wasn't Ren's. It was the low, resonant challenge of Kang Dae.