The next morning, I woke up before my alarm.
Again.
At this point, I stopped pretending it wasn't because of him.
Because of the way his golden sparkles lingered in my mind long after he walked away.
Because of the way he said tomorrow without needing to hear himself say it.
I brushed my hair in the mirror, smoothing it carefully.
Ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
But I couldn't help it.
I wore the soft blue sweater I usually saved for special days, then immediately scolded myself.
"It's just school," I muttered.
But my heart whispered back:
It's him.
---
I didn't go early this time.
I went normal early.
Which still meant earlier than most people, but at least I wasn't standing outside like a lost puppy waiting for her person.
I walked through the courtyard, scanning casually—
very casually—
until my eyes caught movement near the ginkgo tree.
Haejun.
Leaning against the trunk, bag resting at his feet, hands tucked in the sleeves of his hoodie.
He was waiting.
For me.
The realization hit me so abruptly that I actually stopped walking.
His sparkles—today—were soft white.
Not gold.
Not green.
A gentle, glowing white like morning frost melting under sunlight.
When he saw me, the sparkles pulsed, then brightened slightly.
He straightened from the tree and walked toward me with calm steps.
My heartbeat fluttered uncontrollably.
"Good morning," I said, trying very, very hard to sound normal.
He took out his notebook and wrote quickly:
"You're usually earlier."
I blinked. "I… you noticed?"
He nodded once, eyes lingering on mine longer than usual.
Then he wrote:
"I waited."
My breath caught.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
I suddenly felt like the sky had dropped a soft blanket around me and whispered something I wasn't ready to hear yet.
"…You didn't have to wait," I said weakly.
He tapped the notebook, then wrote:
"I wanted to."
I swore the sparkles around him flickered in a shy pattern—
if sparkles could be shy.
---
We walked into the building together.
People stared.
They whispered.
Again.
But today, something felt different.
Maybe I was getting used to it.
Or maybe…
I glanced at him.
His expression was calm, confident even.
Not cold—just steady.
Maybe he was getting used to walking with me.
That thought warmed me more than my sweater.
---
When we reached our classroom, he surprised me.
Instead of taking his seat immediately, he touched my wrist lightly.
A brush—barely anything—
but enough to make me pause.
He signed something.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I watched carefully.
He repeated it, smaller this time, as if encouraging me to understand.
I frowned in concentration.
Then softly mouthed, "What does that mean?"
He wrote:
"My word for you."
My throat tightened.
"A word for… me?"
He nodded.
Then added:
"Means… 'bright.'"
I stared at the page.
Then at him.
Then at the soft white sparkles around him.
Bright.
He had a sign for me.
Not just my name.
A word.
A feeling.
A meaning.
I whispered, "Why… that word?"
He hesitated, then wrote slowly:
"Because you see my colors."
Something in my chest melted.
Completely.
"Then I'll treasure it," I murmured.
His sparkles shimmered delicately—like a quiet yes.
---
During class, I found myself looking at him every so often.
He seemed more relaxed than usual, shoulders not as tight.
When I wrote notes to help him, he didn't just take them—he glanced at me with a soft look first.
A look that felt like thank you
and something else
wrapped together.
During break, he tapped my desk gently and wrote:
"Sparkles today?"
I smiled. "White."
His eyes lifted.
Questioning.
"It's like… calm," I explained. "Or steady. Or… warm and quiet at the same time."
He stared for a moment, absorbing my words carefully.
Then wrote:
"I feel like that today."
I bit my lip, warmth blooming in my chest.
"You look it."
Something subtle flickered across his face.
Not quite a smile—
but something that reached his eyes.
---
Lunch came, and for the first time, he didn't hand me the sweet glazed potato immediately.
Instead, he tapped my lunchbox.
I blinked.
Then he wrote:
"Can I try something else today?"
"Like what?"
He pointed at my lunch.
Then at his chopsticks.
Oh.
Oh.
"Y-you… want to eat my food?" I asked, flustered.
He shook his head quickly.
Then wrote:
"No.
I want to feed you something else."
I froze.
Utterly.
Completely.
My heart went into full meltdown.
He held up a piece of marinated beef—small, neatly cut, still steaming slightly.
Waiting.
My breath shuddered.
No big deal.
Just… normal friends feeding each other food.
Except we weren't normal.
And this didn't feel normal.
I leaned forward slowly and let him place the bite gently into my mouth.
Warm.
Soft.
Tender.
And too intimate.
I swallowed carefully, cheeks warm.
"It's good," I whispered.
His sparkles pulsed—white blooming faint gold for a split second.
Then he went back to eating as if he hadn't just destroyed the structural integrity of my emotional stability.
---
After school, we walked home again.
This time, I noticed something I hadn't before.
He stayed a little closer to me than usual.
Our sleeves brushed once—
twice—
three times.
Each time, he didn't move away.
Neither did I.
At one point, a cyclist rushed past too quickly, and I jumped slightly.
Without hesitation—
without thinking—
he reached out and lightly grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward him so I wouldn't stumble into the road.
Warm.
Firm.
Gentle.
The sparkles around him flared gold.
He let go quickly, writing:
"Sorry."
"No," I said softly. "Thank you."
We stood there for a moment, the breeze tugging at our hair, the quiet world holding its breath around us.
Then he wrote something new.
Something that made my hands tremble.
"I want to learn more signs for you."
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Why?"
He hesitated.
Then wrote slowly, deliberately:
"Because I want to talk to you more."
My heart broke.
And healed.
And broke again.
In the softest, sweetest way.
I swallowed, blinking the warmth from my eyes.
"I want that," I whispered.
He stared at me—
long, searching, gentle.
His sparkles brightened.
White and gold intertwined.
A new color.
A new feeling.
He signed his word for me—
bright.
I signed his name back—
still clumsy, but trying.
He watched my hands like they were something precious.
Then he wrote one last thing before we reached the fork:
"Tomorrow… stay a little longer?"
My chest tightened.
"I will."
His sparkles flickered softly.
He didn't need words.
His silence spoke first.
And it said:
I'm glad you're here.