when the stars align | sim jaeyun

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Monday came too quickly, and with it, another library session with Jake. I was already regretting my decision to partner with him—not that I'd had a choice. 

When I arrived, Jake was sprawled in his chair, tossing a pen in the air and catching it lazily. 

"You're late," he said as I sat down, smirking in that infuriating way of his. 

"By one minute," I shot back, setting my bag on the table. "Don't act like you've been waiting forever." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Time is valuable, Park. Unlike you, I actually enjoy using mine wisely." 

I snorted, pulling out my notebook. "Says the guy who spent fifteen minutes last time talking about how he could be a professional gamer if he tried." 

"That was research," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Quick reflexes are crucial for football. And life." 

"Sure they are," I muttered, focusing on the diagram in front of me. 

Jake chuckled, but thankfully, he didn't push it further. 

We worked in relative silence for the next twenty minutes, though I could feel his eyes on me whenever I wasn't looking. 

"Why do you always do that?" I finally asked, glancing up. 

"Do what?" 

"Stare," I said, narrowing my eyes. 

Jake's lips curved into a slow grin. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure out how someone so small can be so bossy." 

"Maybe you should focus on the project instead of my height," I shot back, hitting his arm.

But his grin only widened. "Touchy, are we?" 

"Annoyed," I corrected, slamming my pen down. "Can we just finish this so I can leave?" 

Jake leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. "You know, Jisun, for someone who pretends to have it all together, you're pretty easy to rile up." 

I glared at him, my chest tightening with frustration. "And for someone who claims to be a team player, you're pretty terrible at working with others." 

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The tension crackled between us, sharp and unyielding. 

Then Jake leaned back, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Fair point," he said, his tone annoyingly casual. 

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to throw something at him. 

---

After that session, I was determined to avoid Jake as much as possible. But fate—or the universe, or whatever cruel force controlled my life—had other plans. 

The next day, during gym class, we were paired for a volleyball drill. 

"Perfect," Jake said as he approached me, his smirk firmly in place. "You can make up for all the times you ignored me in middle school." 

I froze, his words catching me off guard. "What are you talking about?" 

He shrugged, spinning the volleyball in his hands. "Nothing. Just thought you might've forgotten how much you used to ditch me for your other friends." 

"That's not what happened," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. 

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it?" 

I opened my mouth to argue, but the whistle blew, signaling the start of the drill. 

For the next fifteen minutes, we hit the ball back and forth, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Jake didn't bring it up again, but his earlier comment stayed with me, gnawing at the edges of my mind. 

After class, as I was grabbing my things, Jake appeared beside me, his expression unreadable. 

"Hey," he said, his voice quieter than usual. 

I glanced at him warily. "What?" 

"About earlier," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget I said anything. It's not important." 

I frowned, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Why do you always do that? Bring something up and then act like it doesn't matter?" 

Jake hesitated, his gaze flickering to mine. "Because it doesn't," he said finally. "Not anymore." 

But the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself more than me—made my heart ache in a way I didn't expect. 

---

That evening, I found myself staring at an old photo buried in my desk drawer. It was from middle school, back when Jake and I used to hang out after school, eating snacks and talking about everything and nothing. 

In the photo, Jake was grinning, his arm slung casually over my shoulder. I was laughing, my cheeks flushed from the summer heat. 

We looked so happy. 

I sighed, shoving the photo back into the drawer. Whatever we'd had back then was long gone, replaced by years of resentment and misunderstandings. 

But as much as I wanted to forget, a part of me couldn't help but wonder if there was still a chance to fix what was broken. 

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