Chapter Nine – The Trip
The bus hummed with excitement that Friday morning. Students piled in with backpacks, snacks, and pillows, each pair of friends claiming seats with loud chatter. Amara hesitated near the middle, her roommate tugging her arm.
“Here, sit with me,” the roommate said, sliding to the window. “You’ll like looking out.”
Amara smiled gratefully. She still wasn’t used to these trips—loud, lively, filled with inside jokes she didn’t always catch. Her roommate had been her anchor since she arrived in Seoul, always including her.
Just as Amara settled in, Daniel leaned over the aisle with his easy grin. “Looks like I lost the seat lottery this time,” he teased. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep you company later.”
Her roommate grinned knowingly. “Ooooh, Amara’s got someone’s attention.”
Amara rolled her eyes, though warmth crept up her neck. “Don’t start.”
Two rows back, Joon-Ho watched quietly. His earbuds were in, but no music played. His gaze flicked from the window to the back of Amara’s head, lingering far too long before he forced himself to look away.
⸻
The Village
By the time they reached Jeonju, the students spilled out eagerly, stretching after the long ride. The air was crisp, tinged with autumn, and the streets of the heritage village stretched before them with hanok roofs, narrow alleys, and colorful paper lanterns swaying in the breeze.
They split into groups, teachers trailing at a distance. Somehow, Amara ended up with Daniel and her roommate. Daniel seemed determined to stick close, pointing out everything with contagious enthusiasm.
“Look at this,” he said, gesturing to an old hanok door carved with intricate patterns. “They say each design had meaning. This one? For prosperity.”
Amara leaned closer to see, her braids brushing her shoulders. “It’s beautiful. It reminds me a little of home. We have these carved doors in Cameroon too, though the designs are different.”
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? That’s amazing. You should show me sometime.”
Her roommate exchanged a glance with her, smirking, but Amara just laughed softly.
From a few steps behind, Joon-Ho trailed with Min-Seok. He tried to distract himself with the tour guide’s explanations, but his ears caught every sound of her laughter, every word of her conversation with Daniel. Each one dug deeper under his skin.
⸻
Lunch
At midday, the class gathered at a traditional restaurant. The students crowded onto floor cushions around low tables, steaming bowls of bibimbap and plates of jeon filling the air with mouthwatering aromas.
Amara sat with her roommate and Daniel, the latter insisting she try everything. “This is the best kimchi in Jeonju,” he said, sliding the plate toward her. “Trust me.”
She laughed at his seriousness but tasted it anyway, nodding with a smile. “Okay, you’re right.”
Daniel beamed like he’d won something.
Across the room, Joon-Ho sat stiffly, chopsticks untouched. Min-Seok noticed. “Hyung, what’s wrong? You’ve barely eaten.”
“I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t. Every time Daniel leaned toward her, every time Amara smiled back, it was like a silent war Joon-Ho couldn’t fight.
⸻
The Bonfire Night
That evening, the students gathered in the courtyard of the guesthouse where they were staying. A bonfire crackled in the center, casting golden light on eager faces. Someone played guitar, and laughter filled the air as marshmallows toasted on skewers.
Amara sat beside Daniel, her roommate opposite them. Daniel handed her a perfectly golden marshmallow, his fingers brushing hers as he did. “Careful—it’s hot.”
She smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
The moment lingered, simple and innocent. Yet across the fire, Joon-Ho felt it like a spark to his veins.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her—the way the firelight softened her features, the way her laughter seemed to echo above the others. And he hated how Daniel leaned too close, how his attention never wavered from her.
Joon-Ho’s chest tightened with a jealousy he didn’t want to name.
Soo-Min slid onto the log beside him, her perfume sweet and familiar. “Oppa, want one?” she asked, holding out a marshmallow.
Joon-Ho shook his head curtly, not looking at her. “No.”
Her brows furrowed, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on Amara.
When Daniel’s knee brushed Amara’s under the firelight, something in him snapped. He tossed his half-burnt skewer aside and stood abruptly.
Min-Seok blinked up at him. “Hyung, where are you going?”
“Air,” Joon-Ho muttered, his voice clipped.
But air wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted space—from the bonfire, from Daniel, from the crushing weight of feelings he wasn’t supposed to have.
Because if he stayed a moment longer, he wasn’t sure he could keep hiding the truth.
Not from himself.
Not from her.
