I woke up the next morning with a feeling I hadn't experienced in a very long time.
Something warm.
Something hopeful.
Something… sparkling.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes as early sunlight stretched across my room. The memory of yesterday surged back—the walk home, the way he said tomorrow, the soft glow of his sparkles warming the air around us.
I pressed both hands to my cheeks.
"Oh no," I whispered.
"I'm in trouble."
But it was the good kind of trouble—
the kind your heart willingly walks into.
I dressed quickly, ate breakfast distractedly, and left home earlier than usual.
Not too early.
That would've been obvious.
But early enough.
Just in case.
When I reached the school gate, students were trickling in lazily, dragging backpacks and yawning.
I scanned the area, pretending I wasn't searching for someone.
But I was.
Stupidly obviously.
And then—
There he was.
Standing alone near the bike racks, adjusting the strap of his bag.
His hair caught the morning light, the soft green sparkles around him brighter than yesterday—
like today was a good hearing day.
When he glanced up and saw me, the sparkles fluttered with a sudden burst.
He lifted one hand in a small wave.
I froze for half a second—
then waved back.
My heart hammered embarrassingly.
He walked toward me with calm, even steps.
No rush, no hesitation.
When he reached me, he signed something short and simple.
I blinked cluelessly.
He sighed through his nose and took out his notebook.
"Good morning."
I smiled. "Good morning. You look… bright today."
He blinked.
Then pointed to himself, confused.
"Bright," I repeated, gesturing vaguely at him. "Your… uh, presence. You look like you slept well."
He nodded slowly as if understanding.
Not the actual meaning, probably—
but the intention.
He wrote:
"You came early."
Ah.
I felt my ears warming instantly.
"I just… woke up early," I lied weakly.
A tiny spark flickered around him.
He didn't believe me.
But he didn't push.
"Let's go," I said quickly, trying to avoid melting into a puddle.
We walked into the courtyard together, side by side again.
The morning air was cool, making everything feel fresh and new.
And then—
the whispers began again.
"She's with him already?"
"She's too much."
"He never walks with anyone!"
"Why her?"
I clenched my jaw.
But before the tension could reach my eyes—
Haejun gently brushed his hand against my sleeve.
Soft.
Barely there.
But enough to make me look at him.
His eyes were calm, steady, reassuring.
He signed something small.
I still didn't understand—but the message was clear:
It's okay.
I'm here.
---
Inside the classroom, he took his seat beside me, setting down his bag with practiced neatness.
Before class began, he tapped my notebook lightly.
When I looked up, he had already written:
"Want to eat lunch together?"
My brain short-circuited for a second.
"Y-yes."
He nodded once, satisfied.
As though this was the natural outcome.
As if we'd been doing this for months instead of a couple of days.
But it felt natural.
Too natural.
The kind of natural that made me scared—in the way falling for someone always felt like leaning over the edge of a cliff with your eyes closed.
---
During first period, something happened.
Something small.
But it made my lungs stop.
The teacher was explaining something complicated on the board, speaking fast.
The classroom was busy with whispers, the scraping of chairs, the flipping of pages.
And I noticed it—
The sparkles around Haejun shifted.
They darkened slightly.
Not sad, not exactly.
Just… fading.
Unsteady.
He couldn't hear clearly.
I watched him tilt his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at the board.
His fingers curled around his pen.
He was trying.
Hard.
My chest tightened.
Without thinking, I slid my notebook just a little closer to the edge of the desk—
and wrote down the key points the teacher was explaining.
Not word for word.
Just the important things.
I pushed the notebook slightly toward him.
He stiffened—surprised.
Then he looked at the page.
Then at me.
His sparkles brightened instantly—
softer, lighter, warmer.
He tapped my wrist gently with the back of his pen, making me look up.
He mouthed something slowly.
Thank you.
I felt my heart squeeze.
Because even though he didn't speak much—
I heard him.
Clearly.
---
During break, he nudged my elbow.
He had written:
"How did you know?"
I hesitated.
"How did I know… what?"
He pointed to his ear.
Then to my notebook.
"Oh," I whispered. "I just… saw you were having a hard time."
He lowered his eyes for a moment, considering my words carefully.
Then he wrote:
"I'm not used to people noticing."
I bit my lip.
"Well… I notice," I murmured.
He looked up.
His eyes lingered on mine a second longer than usual.
Then another.
Then he wrote:
"I'm glad."
The sparkles around him pulsed softly—green like the fresh spring leaves.
My heart fluttered stupidly.
---
When lunch came, we walked together again into the courtyard.
This time, he chose the same quiet bench under the ginkgo tree.
He opened his lunchbox; I opened mine.
Then—
without warning—
he held out a piece of sweet glazed potato.
With his chopsticks.
Again.
I stared at it.
Then at him.
His expression was calm.
Patient.
Expectant.
"I—I can feed myself, you know…"
He shrugged, writing:
"I know."
I squinted. "Then why are you—"
He added:
"I want to."
My entire soul malfunctioned.
I took the bite in silence, cheeks burning hotter than the sun.
He watched me with a softness I didn't know how to handle.
Then he calmly went back to eating.
As if he didn't just attack me with affection disguised as food.
---
When we finished eating, a leaf drifted down and landed softly on his knee.
He brushed it off without looking—
But another one fell into his hair.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I reached forward.
My fingers gently brushed the leaf away.
His head lifted slightly.
Our eyes met.
The sparkles around him glowed.
Bright.
Warm.
Beautiful.
He wrote:
"You always look carefully."
I swallowed.
"I just don't want leaves in your hair…"
He added:
"Not just leaves."
"…What does that mean?"
He looked at me for a long, thoughtful moment.
Then he wrote slowly.
"You see things.
Before others do."
Before I could answer, the bell rang.
We stood up.
His gaze lingered on me for a few seconds more.
Then he wrote:
"Walk home with me again?"
I smiled.
"I will."
For the first time—
really for the first time—
he looked relieved.
The sparkles around him shimmered like a promise.
A quiet one.
One only I could see.