Ian Yates.
Ian and I had met in college.
I had first met him at the opening ceremony of freshmen.
At that time, I had been the president of the student council and in charge of the welcoming speech while Ian had been the representative of the freshmen.
I had heard that he had been the top scorer of the province.
After I had finished my welcoming speech, he had come on stage after me.
When I had handed him the microphone, my finger had accidentally touched his fingertips.
At that moment, it had been as if an electric current had passed through my body, and I had withdrawn my hand quickly, but he hadn't paid much attention to it and had walked on stage with the microphone calmly.
I had sat in the front row and had watched him talk eloquently off script.
He had been a very good-looking boy.
He had had bushy eyebrows, large eyes, rosy lips, and pretty white teeth. He had been wearing a simple white shirt, his hair black and thick, and he had looked pure and fresh.