Chapter 1 : Birthday Wish
The morning sun slowly spread across the city like honey poured over rooftops, painting every surface gold. A soft breeze drifted through the open window of a small bedroom on the third floor, making the white curtains rise and fall like they were breathing. The air smelled of jasmine from the garden below, and somewhere in the distance, birds were arguing loudly about something important.
None of this reached Yuna.
She was deeply, blissfully unconscious — hair fanned out across her pillow in wild directions, one arm dangling off the mattress, a thin silver line of drool tracing the corner of her mouth.
But Yuna didn’t care.
Because inside her dream, the world was infinitely better than reality.
A boy stood behind her — tall, with soft hair that fell across his forehead just perfectly. He tugged gently at the ribbon lacing her dress, fingers light and careful, like he was unwrapping something precious.
“Ahh…” Yuna sighed in her sleep, lips curving upward.
He wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her slowly against him. His chin rested on her shoulder. Warm. Close. He pressed a soft kiss just beneath her ear, then another along her collarbone, each one making her shiver even in sleep. Yuna rolled across the mattress, hugging herself tightly, cheeks flushed pink, mouth drifting open as if she was about to kiss someone back—
BANG.
Her bedroom door slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame.
At the exact same moment, her alarm clock erupted into shrieking noise, and her phone lit up, buzzing and ringing simultaneously like both devices had conspired to destroy her happiness.
Yuna shot upright.
Her hair was a catastrophe. Her expression was murderous.
“SHUT UP!” she screamed at no one and everyone. “Why is everyone disturbing me?!”
She grabbed the alarm clock from her bedside table and hurled it with full force toward the door. It hit the frame with a satisfying crash and skidded across the floor.
From outside, loud voices called through the gap.
“Open the door, open the door!”
Yuna exhaled sharply. Still half-inside the dream, still half-furious, she dragged herself across the cold floor and yanked the door open with every intention of yelling at whoever was standing there.
The door swung wide.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YUNA!”
Her mother, father, and younger brother tumbled inside the room, arms outstretched, faces bright with enormous smiles. Her mother carried a small chocolate cake with twenty lit candles flickering bravely in the morning breeze. Her brother was already singing off-key. Her father had somehow found a paper party hat and was wearing it sideways on his head without a trace of shame.
Yuna blinked.
Her anger dissolved instantly, replaced by something warm and embarrassingly soft.
“Oh…” she said. Then, louder: “Thank you!”
They crowded around her bed — her mother setting the cake on the dresser, her brother grabbing her hand and pulling her toward it, her father laughing at the alarm clock still lying on the floor. Yuna leaned over the candles, took a breath, and blew. Every single flame went out at once, and her family erupted into cheering as though she had accomplished something extraordinary.
She had officially turned twenty.
An hour later, dressed and fed, Yuna waved goodbye at the front door and stepped into the morning. The air was still cool, the sun climbing higher between the buildings. She adjusted the strap of her bag and began walking toward the bus stop at the end of the street, her footsteps light.
This was a significant day. Not just her birthday.
Today was also her very first day of college.
She tilted her face upward to the pale blue sky, pressing her palms together in front of her chest with deep, theatrical sincerity.
Please, God, she thought. I have been single and completely lonely for twenty entire years. Twenty. That is a long time. I’m not asking for much. Just one boyfriend. Reasonably handsome. Decent personality. This year. Please.
She paused. Then added, for good measure:
Actually — if possible, could you make it cinematic? Like, a car could splash rainwater near me, and at the very last second, a handsome boy pulls me out of the way. We both fall down. Our eyes meet. It’s dramatic and romantic and I keep this memory forever.
She pressed her palms harder together.
Please. Please. Please.
As if the sky had been listening and wanted to comment, a shadow moved overhead. Dark clouds rolled across the sun with impressive speed. The temperature dropped three degrees. Then rain arrived — not politely, not gradually — but all at once, heavy and cold and completely without mercy.
Yuna stood at the bus stop getting soaked.
She did not open her eyes.
Okay, she continued praying, raindrops running down her nose. The rain is here. The car just needs to come now. And then the boy. Please. I’ve been very patient.
At that exact moment, a car came speeding down the wet road, tires cutting through a wide, deep puddle along the curb.
A wall of dirty grey rainwater launched itself into the air.
“AHH—”
A hand grabbed Yuna’s arm and yanked her sharply backward.
Both of them tumbled onto the wet pavement together.
Yuna hit the ground, felt the cold seep through her jacket, and smiled.
He came. She was almost trembling. God actually listened.
She lay still for a dramatic second, heart hammering, before slowly — savoring it completely — opening her eyes.
A sixty-year-old grandfather lay on the ground beside her, looking slightly winded but otherwise fine. His white hair was flattened by the rain. He had kind eyes behind thick glasses.
“My child,” he said warmly, already reaching out a hand to help her up. “Are you alright? You shouldn’t stand so close to the road. It’s dangerous.”
Yuna did not move.
Something inside her — some small, fragile part — crumbled silently into dust.
The grandfather continued reaching toward her, patient and gentle and completely, devastatingly not a handsome boy.
Yuna’s brain, operating on birthday excitement and broken dreams, temporarily lost control of her mouth.
“Why did you save me?!” she burst out, sitting up. “Did I even ask you to save me?!”
The entire bus stop went quiet.
Several people turned to stare. A woman holding a child pulled her groceries a little closer. A man with an umbrella lowered it slightly to get a better look.
One woman straightened immediately, eyes sharp.
“Excuse me? You should be thanking him! He just saved your life!”
Another man nodded firmly. “Say sorry! Right now!”
The words landed on Yuna like cold water — which, given the circumstances, she was already covered in. She looked at the grandfather. She looked at the crowd. She looked at the grandfather again.
She wanted to sink directly through the pavement.
“I—” She stood quickly, bowed low, and kept her head down. “I’m so sorry, Grandpa. I don’t know why I said that. Thank you. Thank you so much for saving me. I’m really, truly sorry.”
The old man laughed — actually laughed, warm and unbothered.
“It’s perfectly alright, child. No harm done.”
He patted her shoulder once, gently, the way someone’s grandfather would, and then shuffled toward the bench to wait for his own bus.
The crowd slowly looked away. The rain eased. The bus appeared around the corner right on schedule, as if the universe had timed it deliberately to end Yuna’s suffering.
She wiped her face with her handkerchief, cleaned the mud from her sleeve as best she could, and stepped aboard.
What is wrong with me, she thought, finding a seat and staring out the foggy window. Forget romance. Forget boys. I am twenty years old. I should be focused on studying, on good marks, on building a future. That is what a sensible adult does.
She nodded to herself firmly.
Yes. Studying. That’s it. No more of this nonsense.
She had made this exact resolution before. Several times, in fact.
Her friends found her on the bus three stops later, piling in with loud birthday wishes and the kind of energy that only made sense before nine in the morning. Yuna smiled, laughed, accepted the hugs, and let herself be carried along with their noise.
On campus, Rita was glowing. The moment they passed through the college gates, she grabbed everyone’s arms dramatically.
“My boyfriend joined this college!” she announced. “He called me last night and said — I get to see your face every single day now."
The group erupted in exaggerated screams and teasing. Rita covered her flushed face with both hands while they tormented her cheerfully.
Yuna smiled along with everyone else.
Nora, walking quietly at her side, watched her.
Inside the classroom, once the others had scattered to find seats, Nora leaned over.
“You look sad,” she said simply. “On your birthday. Why?”
“I’m fine,” Yuna said.
“You’re not fine. Your face has been doing that thing it does.”
Yuna sighed. She told her everything — the prayer, the rain, the car, the grandfather, the incredibly public scolding she’d received from strangers on a wet pavement.
Nora listened without interrupting.
Then she burst out laughing so hard she had to hold the desk.
“Only you,” she managed. “Only you could pray for a romantic rescue and get a sixty-year-old grandfather.”
Yuna dropped her head into her arms.
After she recovered, Nora spoke more gently.
“Honestly? Stop chasing it. The more desperately you want something like that, the worse it turns out. When you stop looking — that’s usually when it finds you.”
Yuna lifted her head. Stared at her. “So if I genuinely stop thinking about wanting a boyfriend, I’ll get one?”
Nora nodded with the confidence of someone who believed this completely.
Yuna sat up straight, folded her hands on the desk, and said with great solemnity: “Done. I am officially retired from romance.”
Nora smiled. “Good.”
Then she leaned closer and dropped her voice.
“Also — apparently our homeroom teacher this year is extremely strict. Like, genuinely terrifying. That’s what the seniors said.”
Almost as if the room had heard her, the door swung open.
The entire class fell silent at once — the particular silence of people straightening in their seats and pretending they had always been sitting properly.
A woman walked in, heels quiet against the tile floor. She set a file on the desk, adjusted her glasses, and surveyed the room once — slowly — before opening the attendance register.
She began calling names in a steady, unhurried voice.
Yuna folded her hands on the desk and stared forward.
Twenty years old, she reminded herself. College student. Serious. Focused. Absolutely, completely done with romance.
She was going to be fine.
And just like that, her college life officially began.
End of Chapter
