that friday noon finds you in a small classroom with way fancier chairs for mere college students (they’re black and bouncy and have hard metals as body parts—office chairs, you’d say.) and equally fancy tables, albeit yours is a bit wobbly due to some loose bits, you think.
that friday noon also brings surprise upon you because unfamiliar faces start to pile one by one into the class, and you know from the whisper of your friend that your class is joint with that of senior’s. yep.
(you hate your faculty department for not announcing this earlier and making you feel out of place, even though you’re in the right room, so are they. it just feels weird to be sitting in the same space with people older than you, learning the same thing.)
someone plops himself down on the chair right in front of you, and from the lack of recognition, you conclude that he’s a senior.
you don’t know why, but his choice of attire that day attracts your interest as you take in the way his white t-shirt hugs his bicep just right,—
—his back looks firm every time he shifts to move things around his table. he seems to know the girl beside him—also a senior—because they’ve been chatting ever since he sat down a few minutes ago.
you pay him no more attention as the class starts with your lecturer introducing herself and explaining the syllabus for this semester, and you still wonder why your classes get joint while your curriculums are different. weird, weird faculty of yours.
it’s not until attendance is taken that you listen closely, afraid of missing your name and be marked absent when you’re clearly here in the flesh. seniors get called first because of their student numbers, and that’s when you know his name.
his hand shoots up when your lecturer says “jeon jeongguk?” and you can’t help but store that memory into your mind, unconsciously keeping a tab for a senior with a white-tshirt-blue-jeans get up named jeon jeongguk.
this joint class might be more interesting than you thought it’d be.
tuesday, february 19th 2019. 07.11 pm.