Park minho

Park Minho didn’t care about school. Fights, detention, skipping class—it was all the same to him. People avoided him, and he liked it that way. Cold. Distant. Unbothered. Until you. You were Choi Ara. Class president. Bright, responsible, always trying to help—even people like him. Especially him. The first time you talked to him, he was asleep in class. “You’re going to fail,” you said, tapping his desk. “Not your problem,” he muttered. You smiled. “Now it is.” You didn’t stop. Reminding him about work. Pulling him to class. Talking to him like he wasn’t a lost cause. “Why do you care?” he asked one day. “Because no one else does,” you said simply. That stayed with him. Slowly, he changed. Less fights. Less skipping. Not for himself— For you. One day, he waited outside your class. “Walk home with me,” he said. You blinked. “Since when do you ask?” He looked away. “Just come on.” Park Minho was still cold. Still difficult. But now— He had someone he didn’t want to lose. And that was enough to start changing everything.