Chapter 1: The Prince of Indifference
The roof was never quiet, not really, but the noise had a texture Jay appreciated. Laughter, the clink of bottles, the low thrum of bass from someone’s portable speaker—it was a background hum to the golden-hour glow. He sank deeper into the velvet couch, a relic someone had dragged up here six parties ago, and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. It was good whiskey. It always was.
His phone buzzed against his thigh. Another message, this one with a winking emoji. He didn’t reply, just took a sip and let the warmth spread through his chest. It was a familiar feeling, empty and smooth.
“You look profoundly bored,” MJ said, dropping onto the couch beside him. He held two plastic cups of beer, foaming over the rims. He offered one. Jay took it with a nod, setting his whiskey on the floor. “Or profoundly tragic. I can never tell.”
“I’m contemplating the existential dread of my polymathic brilliance,” Jay deadpanned, his eyes scanning the rooftop crowd. “It’s a burden.”
MJ snorted. “Your burden is that your dad’s accountant is better at his job than mine. What’s really up?”
Before Jay could fashion another deflection, a shift in the rooftop door’s light caught his attention. Professor Kim stepped out, squinting in the late sun, a folder tucked under his arm. Conversations dipped momentarily. Kim was a good sport, but his presence always carried a faint whiff of academia, of deadlines and grades.
“Seo! Kang!” Kim called out, his voice cutting through the music. “A word.”
Jay felt a minor ripple of annoyance. He’d done the reading. He was fine. He unfolded himself from the couch, running a hand through his black hair as he ambled over. MJ followed, out of curiosity.
Standing a few feet from Professor Kim was a girl Jay had seen in lectures. A-ri Kang. She was the one who always sat in the back, near the door, in what looked like her brother’s hoodie and a faded baseball cap. She was looking at Professor Kim, not at him.
“Group project,” Professor Kim announced, as if delivering a sentence. “The mid-term architectural modeling assignment. You two are paired.”
Jay’s eyebrows lifted. He offered A-ri Kang his easy, practiced smile. “Hey. Jae-eon. But Jay’s fine.”
She finally glanced at him. Her eyes were dark and focused, assessing him the way one might assess a slightly inconvenient piece of furniture. “A-ri,” she said. Her voice was quiet but clear, no flutter in it. “Emily’s fine.”
“Great,” Professor Kim said, ignoring the complete lack of chemistry. “You can sort the details. Proposals are due in three weeks.” He patted the folder, gave a curt nod, and headed back toward the stairwell, leaving them in a bubble of awkward silence.
Jay tried again. “So. Should we grab a coffee? Talk concept?”
Emily looked down at her worn sneakers, then back at his face. There was no shyness there, only a kind of pressed-time efficiency. “I work evenings. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my only free blocks after ten AM. Library, ten-fifteen. We can meet then.” It wasn’t a question.
A flicker of something unfamiliar sparked in Jay’s gut. Irritation, mostly, but edged with surprise. He was used to accommodation, to schedules bending around his. “Ten-fifteen? That’s… precise.”
“I have a shift at noon,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did, for her. She pulled a pen from her hoodie pocket, took his hand, and wrote a string of digits on his palm. Her fingers were cool, her grip firm. “My number. Text me if you have ideas before then. Don’t call, I’ll be working.”
She gave MJ a polite, brief nod, then turned and walked away, disappearing through the rooftop door without a backward glance.
Jay stared at his palm, the blue ink stark against his skin. He could feel MJ’s eyes on him, wide with delight.
“She just… wrote on you,” MJ said, a grin spreading across his face.
“I noticed.”
“And she didn’t even look at your Rolex. Or your jaw. I don’t think she looked at your face at all after the first two seconds.”
Jay closed his hand, the numbers pressing into his lifeline. He looked at the door where she’d vanished. The gnawing emptiness he’d been sipping whiskey to fill yawned a little wider, but now it had a different shape. It had the outline of a girl in an oversized hoodie who’d given him orders and left.
“She’s busy,” Jay said, mostly to himself.
“Everyone’s busy,” MJ replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “She’s just the first one who didn’t think being busy with you was more important.”
Back on the couch, Jay picked up his whiskey glass. It tasted different. Sharper. He scrolled through the messages on his phone—the flirty, eager, available words—and they suddenly seemed like lyrics to a song he’d heard too many times. He looked at the numbers on his palm.
Library. Ten-fifteen. Don’t be late.
He wasn’t sure if the last part was something she’d said or something he’d imagined. It felt like a challenge. For the first time that evening, maybe for the first time in a long while, the texture of the rooftop noise changed. The hum wasn’t just background anymore. It was a countdown.
The library at ten-fifteen was a different world. The air was cool, sterile, and smelled of old paper and lemon-scented cleaner. Sunlight cut in sharp lines through the high windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust. Jay was five minutes late.
He found her on the third floor, in a carrel tucked between towering shelves of architectural folios. Her back was to him, her hoodie a grey lump against the wooden chair. A single, battered notebook was open, her hand moving in quick, precise strokes. He watched for a second. She wasn’t doodling. She was sketching a structural detail, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Sorry,” he said, sliding into the chair opposite. “Traffic.”
Emily didn’t look up. “You walk from the east dorm. It’s an eight-minute walk.” Her pencil didn’t stop. “We have fifty-three minutes. I’ve outlined three potential concepts based on the project rubric. You can review them and choose one, or propose your own.”
She pushed the notebook toward him. The sketches were clean, intelligent, and defiantly practical. One was a community center for a low-urban area, another a modular housing concept. The third was a reimagining of a public transit station.
Jay stared at the pages. He’d glanced at the assignment, thought vaguely about something sleek and theoretical, a private gallery maybe. Something that would look good in a portfolio. These drawings felt like they had weight. Purpose.
“You did all this already?”
“I had time before my shift yesterday.” Finally, she looked up. She’d pushed her cap back a little. He saw her face more clearly—the sharp line of her cheekbone, a faint freckle by her eye. There was a tiredness there, but her gaze was utterly alert. “Do you have a preference?”
He leaned back, the chair creaking. “The transit hub. It’s more complex. More interesting.”
“Good. I thought so too.” She pulled the notebook back, flipped a page. “I’ve started a material list. We’ll need to consider sustainable, cost-effective options. The proposal needs a feasibility analysis. I can handle the initial modeling if you take the first pass at the written rationale.”
“You’re just… dividing the work.”
“Yes. Is that a problem?” She met his eyes directly. “Do you have a different method?”
He was used to being the one in charge, the one who delegated with a charming smile. This was a flat, efficient transaction. He found he had no rebuttal. “No. No method. This is fine.”
“Good.” She made a note. “I’ll email you the digital scans by tonight. You can have the rationale draft to me by Sunday?”
It was Wednesday. “Sure,” he said, the word automatic.
A faint, almost imperceptible hint of relief softened her features for a millisecond. “Thank you.”
Silence settled between them, filled only with the soft scratch of her pencil. Jay felt unmoored. He was used to filling silences, to being the entertainment. Here, the silence was productive, and he was the superfluous element.
“So you work at noon?” he asked, just to break it.
“Café on Broad. The Grind.”
“I know it.” It was a student place, always crowded, known for cheap coffee and sullen baristas. He’d never been behind the counter. “Long shifts?”
“Four to close on lecture days. Double shifts on weekends.” She didn’t elaborate.
“That’s brutal with our course load.”
Her pencil paused. She looked at him again, and this time her expression was unreadable. “It’s necessary.”
The simple statement hung there, highlighting the vast, unspoken canyon between his life and hers. His complaints about existential dread suddenly felt obscene. He fumbled for something to say, his usual confidence deserting him.
“Hey, project partners! Fancy meeting you here.” MJ’s cheerful voice was a lifeline. He appeared, dropping a heavy textbook on the table with a thud. “Mind if I intrude? The silent study zone is full of actual silent people. It’s unnerving.”
Emily gave a small, polite smile. “It’s a free table.”
MJ slid into a chair, his eyes darting between Jay’s slightly lost expression and Emily’s focused one. “So, what’s the master plan? Building the next Sydney Opera House?”
“Public transit hub,” Jay said, grateful for the interjection.
“Ooh, gritty. I like it.” MJ turned to Emily. “He’s all concept, no follow-through. You’ll have to whip him into shape.”
“I’m sure he’s capable,” Emily said, but it sounded less like a compliment and more like a hopeful assumption.
Jay’s phone buzzed on the table. A notification lit up the screen—a name, a heart emoji. He flipped it over, face down.
Emily’s eyes flicked to the movement, then back to her work. She said nothing.
“So, Emily,” MJ began, adopting his most congenial tone. “A bunch of us are grabbing dinner at that new Korean BBQ place on Friday. You should come. Project bonding. My treat.”
Jay shot him a look. MJ ignored him.
Emily’s polite smile became strained. “That’s kind. I have a shift.”
“Call in sick! Live a little.”
“I need the hours,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “But thank you for the invitation.” She closed her notebook and began packing her bag with swift, economical movements. “Jay, I’ll email those scans. Sunday for the draft. Have a good afternoon.”
She shouldered her bag—a faded canvas thing with a broken strap—and was gone, moving quietly between the bookshelves.
MJ whistled softly. “Wow. She is… formidable.”
Jay was still looking at the space where she’d been. “She thinks I’m an idiot.”
“No, she doesn’t. She thinks you’re a variable. She’s figuring out if you’re a helpful variable or a problematic one.” MJ tapped the textbook. “You’re going to do that draft, aren’t you? And it’s going to be good.”
“I always do my work.”
“Yeah, but you usually do it the night before, fueled by arrogance and Red Bull. This feels different.” MJ’s grin was knowing. “It’s the first time someone’s looked at you and seen a possible liability instead of an asset. It’s got you rattled.”
Jay didn’t deny it. The numbers she’d written on his palm had mostly washed off, but a faint, blue smudge remained. A stain. A reminder. He looked at his overturned phone, at the silent, gleaming object that usually brought him a stream of validation.
It felt suddenly very quiet. The countdown in his head wasn’t to a party or a hookup anymore. It was to Sunday. He had to produce something that wouldn’t make her look at him with that pragmatic disappointment again. The gnawing feeling was back, but it had a new, sharp flavor. It tasted like the fear of being just another thing on her to-do list, something to be efficiently managed, and ultimately, found lacking.