EGOIST (Sang Woo x Fem!OC) [ONGOING]

Today, I had an itch that compelled me to move. It's such a blessing, this itch, as it would let me flow between spaces, and then I'd find myself in a new place and a new mystery. And today, that itch led me to a new spot in the library.

This place, which I've been to only a handful of times, greeted me with the same warmly lit lights. But I don't think I came here to study, but to wander. Aimlessly, I walked up and down aisles, into and out of study nooks that were often full or emptied except for a stack of books reserving empty seats. And strangely, I found myself in the English literature section, which I've hardly been to before. I grab a book without checking the cover, flip to a random page, and read:

What though the field be lost?

All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That Glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power,
Who from the terror of this arm so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed,
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall...

The prose nearly killed me. I've read and spoken English a few times but not often of phrases with this much depth. I finally look at the cover and see an image of an angel. Paradise Lost by John Milton. Curiously, I keep the paperback with me.

My history with the English language always felt natural. When I was nine, I saw an English translation of the bible tucked away in one of our shelves back home. I was told my grandfather hoarded many things, and one of those were books, and so we've inherited quite a collection. It took me a while to comprehend the English passages of the bible, so I read it side by side with the Hanguk-eo translation. It was a dense labyrinth of stories and proverbs. From Genesis to Exodus, I read every chapter and every line until I could no longer register the English sentences.

It was a collection of lost stories to me, as all the books that completed the bible connected but somehow lost its way in the middle.

There is a pause between the new testament and the old testament, like the present that bridged the past and the future together suddenly disappeared, and then there was only the beginning and the end.

I know very well that the bible is a book of faith, but as I finished the final page of Exodus, I felt nothing but a sense of accomplishment that I have once again finished another puzzle.

What an imposing little thing, I thought. The image of the angel of Paradise Lost pulled me, dauntingly, to sit and to stare. Lucifer, I realized, stared back at me with what looked like desperation. This is the creature God had warned me about.

I take the book with me and went to find a seat.

One would think that the little piece of luck I would have encountered today would be the book itself, but as playful fate is, found myself in one of its twists. I was sitting on an empty table, big enough to fit a group of six, and I read the book from the very beginning. With the book on my left hand, a notepad and pen on my right, I began to read the first passages of the poem with such conviction that I had barely noticed the sudden surge of people walking up the room.

They were a group of five, huddled at the end of the hall, watching me. I only noticed and looked up when I heard one of them give the other guy a shove, hitting a shelf that caused a few books to fall. I look up, we locked eyes, the man blushes. With my awareness, the rest of the group to pretends to be aloof, leaving the man to my attention.

I've seen him before, a handful of times actually. There is no mistaking with his thick framed glasses and dark hoodie that he almost wore it as a uniform. I've seen him often, yet I still do not know his name.

"Yes?" I said out loud. The man with the glasses cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze.

"Uh, are you—alone at this table?" He stuttered.

"Yes," I replied, unsure why he sounded so nervous.

"Oh. Okay."

Silence hung between us until another voice spoke up, filling the void.

"We were wondering if it's alright to share the table," one of them explained, gesturing to the group. "There are five of us, and—well, you're just one person."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Of course," I said, already gathering my things.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that." They say. "You can stay. You're in accounting class too, right?" They look at me quizzically, as if the answer to that question was 'yes'. Well, it would have been yes if it weren't for the fact that I dropped out just a while ago and changed my major, but I'm surprised they remember me but did not notice that I dropped out.

"Yes, we know you. Hae Yoon, right?"

"--Hae Young." I corrected.

"Right." They say. "Hae Young. I thought you said Hae Yoon, I misheard you." They turn back to the man with the glasses, who grew redder on the spot.

Perhaps the look on my face was visibly shocked as the man begins to stutter.

"--You sat by the window in financial accounting. With Mrs. So." He says sheepishly. "And I sit behind you."

"Yeah, I remember you." I say. "You picked up my pen."

"A fountain pen."

My eyes lit up. "That's right."

He looked at me, expecting I say his name but I say nothing more, so he once again clears his throat. "Cho Sang Woo." He puts his hand out with a slight quirk in his step, bouncing on his heels as if to relief his awkward tension. Behind us, I hear a bundle of snickers and giggles.

"Moon Hae Young," I say, shaking his hand briefly.

"And you can stay," he blurted, gesturing to the table. I glanced at the group—they'd already filled every chair, laughter spilling across the room.

"It's alright," I said. "I need to go anyway."

His expression fell slightly, but he nodded. "Okay. See you... in class?"

The question lingered, and I gritted my teeth. "Sure," I lied, offering a tight smile before turning away.

What a strange experience it is to remember and be remembered, as the weeks in accounting class passed like a blur. I just sat and wrote as the lecture dissolved into muffled words, barely retaining any information.

Cho Sang Woo. I repeat in my head like a new vocabulary I need to hold on to--just in case it slips away. Hopefully this time it stays.

Yet, if my name stayed in his memory for weeks.. Oh, why does it matter?

SNU is a big campus and I simply exist in it. I merely exist in this world. But to be remembered--I exist somewhere new.

Shyly, I glance back at the group. Cho Sang Woo is still looking back. I give him a small wave, and he responds with a courteous nod. Then I turn away for good.

From the corner of my eye , I think I catch one of his friends giving him a playful jab on the shoulder. A fleeting moment, barely there, as I walk down the steps to exit the library.