Jeong Yunho

The library was always quiet at this hour—just the occasional rustle of a turning page. You didn’t come here for romance, but that changed the moment you saw him. He sat in silence, lost in a battered hardcover, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine. His name was Yunho. You didn’t mean to stare. But when he caught you, it was like the plot had been rewritten without your permission. His lips quirked upward, a knowing sort of smile, and suddenly, the silence wasn’t so empty anymore.