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The campus library always smelled faintly of dust and coffee. Yoona didn’t mind it reminded her of quiet mornings before anyone else was awake. She usually came here after her last class, when the sun began to slide behind the glass walls and turned everything gold.
That afternoon she’d chosen a seat by the window, planning to review her notes for midterms. The table wobbled slightly, and when she tried to adjust one of its legs, she noticed something jammed between the wooden frame and the metal brace: a folded piece of paper.
It was a letter.
The paper was slightly creased, the handwriting neat but soft, with loops and curls that looked patient.
To whoever finds this,
I’m not sure why I’m leaving this here. Maybe I just needed to tell someone that today was hard, and that I’m still trying. If you’re reading this, I hope your day is kinder than mine.
There was no name at the bottom, just a small doodle of a sun peeking over a wave.
Yoona smiled without meaning to. She didn’t know the writer, but something about the honesty in those lines felt warm like hearing a stranger hum your favorite song.
On impulse, she pulled a sticky note and scribbled something quickly, and slipped it where the letter had been.
It was kinder, actually. Maybe because of this note. Hope tomorrow’s better for you.
– Y
She didn’t expect anything back. But two days later, another folded paper appeared.
Thank you. I didn’t think anyone would answer. Today I bought strawberry milk because I felt like I earned it.
Yoona laughed quietly, right there in the library. That was how it started.
Over the next weeks, the notes became small anchors in her routine. She’d find them tucked under the table’s edge, written on lined paper or notebook scraps. The mysterious writer signed each one with a tiny drawing a sun, a moon, sometimes both.
Their messages were ordinary, but they glowed with something gentle.
Do you ever listen to music when it rains? It makes everything sound softer.
The vending machine finally worked today. I think it likes me again.
Yoona always wrote back.
Yes. Rain and music go together. Try “It Takes Two” by Fiji Blue next time.
Maybe it’s fate. Machines like kind people.
She started to look forward to those quiet exchanges more than she wanted to admit. She’d linger in the library even when her work was done, pretending to reread her notes while waiting for another note to appear.
After a few weeks, she realized it felt strange to keep writing to someone without a name.
She ended her next reply with a new line:
By the way, I’m Yoona. I realized I never said that. Feels rude to keep signing off as “Y.”
The next day, a new note appeard:
Yoona.
That’s a pretty name. I’m Jinsol.*
Yoona traced the name with her thumb, smiling. Jinsol. It fit the handwriting perfectly simple, pretty, sure of itself.
After that, she caught herself wondering who Jinsol was. There were probably dozens of students with that name on campus. Still, she noticed herself scanning faces in the library, trying to imagine who could write words that soft.
One night, she stayed late to finish an essay. The library was nearly empty, just the hum of air conditioning and the clack of keyboards. She heard faint footsteps approach her usual table, then stop. A girl crouched down, sliding something under the frame.
Yoona froze.
The girl was tall, short blonde hair slightly pulled back, wearing a gray hoodie with “Music Dept.” printed across the back. When she straightened up, she caught Yoona’s gaze for the briefest moment, wide brown eyes, Then she smiled.
And walked away.
Yoona’s heart thudded unevenly. She reached for the folded paper immediately.
I guess it was only a matter of time before you saw me. Thank you for writing back all this time. If you’d like, maybe we could keep talking outside of paper.
Yoona’s fingers trembled slightly around the page. She thought of the countless small notes they’d shared the jokes, the confessions about hard days, the invisible friendship that had quietly bloomed between words.
She scribbled her reply before she could overthink it.
I’d like that. There’s a café near the gate, tomorrow, 4 PM?
She left it where the others had been.
The next afternoon, Yoona arrived early. The café was half full, windows fogged from the late-autumn chill. She ordered two drinks, just in case, and tried not to look too eager every time the door opened.
Then Jinsol stepped in.
She looked exactly how Yoona imagined calm but bright, the kind of person who smiled with her whole face. She spotted Yoona, hesitated for a second, then walked over.
“Yoona?”
Yoona nodded, smiling despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Hi.”
Jinsol laughed softly. “So you’re the one who made me like studying again.”
They talked for hours, about music, the library, random things like favorite street food. The conversation felt effortless, as if all those letters had already built the bridge between them.
When they parted that evening, Jinsol handed Yoona a small folded paper.
Even if we don’t leave notes anymore, I’ll still look for you between the lines.
Yoona tucked it carefully into her notebook.
And that’s how something small and unplanned, just a note hidden under a table became the best part of her college life.