The late afternoon sun draped the school's front gate in soft gold, making everything look warmer—gentler—like the world was slowing down just for us.
Me.
And Jin Haejun.
We stepped out together, side by side.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Just enough that the soft glow of his heart-light brushed against the edges of my vision, steady and calm.
Like he felt… safe.
The gates were still busy, clusters of students chatting, laughing, dragging backpacks or hopping onto their bikes.
But the moment we walked past them, something subtle shifted.
Heads turned.
Whispers brewed.
"Since when does he walk with somebody?"
"That new girl again?"
"Is he tutoring her?"
"He never walks with anyone!"
My stomach tensed.
But Haejun didn't seem to notice.
Or if he did, he didn't show it.
His expression stayed relaxed.
Focused on the path ahead, hands tucked in his pockets, steps even and unhurried.
I wondered if he'd grown used to whispers—
or if he had learned to ignore them long ago.
Without thinking, I slowed my steps just a little.
He noticed instantly.
His head turned slightly, concern flickering in his eyes.
I forced a smile. "Sorry, I just… walk slow."
His gaze lingered on me for a beat longer than usual.
Then he nodded once, slowing to match my pace.
It was such a small gesture.
But it made my chest tighten.
Walking together like this—
it felt strangely meaningful.
Like we were two quiet puzzle pieces learning how to fit.
---
After we left the school grounds, the familiar noises faded, replaced by the soft crunch of leaves under our shoes and the distant hum of cars.
"So…" I said lightly, trying to sound normal. "You live nearby?"
He took out his notebook and wrote as we kept walking.
"Ten minutes. What about you?"
"About the same," I said. "Maybe twelve."
He hesitated.
Then wrote:
"Then we can walk together sometimes."
Sometimes.
Not today only.
Not because of convenience.
But sometimes.
My steps faltered.
He paused, turning toward me slightly.
His sparkles flickered—tiny, cautious—like he was unsure if he'd said something strange.
"No," I said quickly. "I mean—yes! I would like that. A lot."
His shoulders relaxed just a bit.
A soft green glow fluttered around him, gentle as a sigh.
We continued walking.
---
We reached a small pedestrian bridge that crossed a shallow stream, where sunlight danced on the water's surface like tiny diamonds.
Haejun slowed, almost imperceptibly, then gestured toward the railing.
He wanted to stop?
I followed him, resting my arms on the cool metal as I looked down at the water.
Ripples moved slowly, leaves drifting along like lazy boats.
He stood beside me, pulling out his notebook.
"Do you like it here?"
I smiled. "It's peaceful."
He wrote:
"I come here sometimes. When I need quiet."
Quiet.
He didn't just prefer it—
he needed it.
"I understand," I said softly.
He looked at me, almost surprised.
Maybe people usually didn't.
His sparkles glowed faintly, like a warm breath against my senses.
He wrote again:
"Crowds are hard."
"Too loud?"
He nodded.
Then added:
"Too many voices. Hard to tell which ones matter."
That line hit me unexpectedly deeply.
Maybe it wasn't just about sound.
Maybe it was about people.
Which ones mattered.
Which ones didn't.
Which ones stayed.
Which ones didn't.
I swallowed the ache in my throat.
"Well," I whispered, "if you ever need… less noise, or fewer voices… you can sit with me."
He blinked.
Slowly.
As if processing the meaning behind my words.
Then he wrote:
"You're not loud."
I laughed softly. "That sounds like an insult."
He shook his head immediately and wrote faster:
"It's good."
I tilted my head. "Good?"
He nodded firmly, eyes steady.
"Comfortable."
The warmth in my chest spread again—soft, slow, dangerous.
---
After a moment of watching the water, he tapped the railing twice to get my attention.
Then pointed ahead.
We began walking again, this time with a more familiar rhythm.
Not strangers.
Not classmates.
Something in between.
Something new.
"How was your first day?" he wrote after a moment.
"It was… overwhelming," I admitted. "But also… nice."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Nice because…?" he wrote.
My face flushed instantly.
I waved my hands. "N-not because of you!"
He looked at me with a blank expression.
"Okay, maybe a little because of you," I muttered.
He blinked.
His sparkles fluttered—soft, playful—like he was trying not to smile.
He scribbled:
"I thought so."
"A-ah?! What do you mean you thought so?!"
He shrugged casually and kept writing.
"Your ears turn red."
My hands flew to my ears.
"They do NOT—!"
"Red," he wrote again, pointing.
I groaned dramatically. "Stop observing me so much…"
He paused.
Then wrote, slower this time:
"I want to."
I froze mid-step.
He didn't notice—or pretended not to—continuing forward as if he hadn't just dropped a tiny emotional bomb.
By the time I caught up, my heartbeat was still skipping like a broken metronome.
---
As we reached the corner where our paths would separate, he slowed again, turning to face me.
The sunlight caught in his hair, softening the shadows on his face.
He took out his notebook one last time.
"Thank you for walking with me."
I smiled. "No, thank you."
He hesitated.
Then wrote:
"Can we… do it again?"
My heart stuttered.
"Yes," I whispered. "I'd like that."
He wrote one last phrase:
"Tomorrow?"
I nodded. "Tomorrow."
The sparkles around him glowed brighter—not explosive, but warm and full, like lantern light on a dark night.
He lifted a hand in a small wave.
I waved back.
He watched me for a second longer—just long enough to make my heart flutter—before turning the corner and disappearing from view.
The moment he was gone, I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
My feet felt lighter.
My chest felt warmer.
And for the first time since moving here—
the world felt like it had started sparkling too.
Not just around him.
But around me.
Because of him.