The next morning, I woke up already smiling.
That was new.
I wasn't the type of person who woke up with sunshine in my chest, but today… everything felt lighter. Like my pillow was softer, my window brighter, my heartbeat gentler.
As I tied my hair, I caught myself humming.
"Oh no," I groaned into my mirror.
"This is getting serious."
But even as I said it, my cheeks refused to unstiffen from their ridiculous smile.
I wasn't sure what I was looking forward to more—
seeing him again,
or the way his sparkles would look this morning.
---
I arrived at school ten minutes early.
Not suspiciously early.
Just… early enough.
I stood near the courtyard entrance, pretending to scroll on my phone, but my eyes kept drifting toward the gate.
Then—
Like the universe decided to reward me—
I saw him.
Haejun stepped through the gate quietly, adjusting the strap of his bag. His hair fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, and the sparkles around him…
Today, they weren't soft green.
They were golden.
A warm, gentle gold like sunlight through curtains.
My breath caught.
He spotted me almost instantly, and the glow brightened subtly—
the way light intensifies behind a cloud.
He walked toward me, the faintest shift in his steps.
Not quite faster.
But… more intentional.
"Morning," I said, trying not to sound like someone who'd been standing here waiting specifically for him.
He took out his notebook and wrote:
"You came early again."
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
"I had things to do."
He looked around.
At the empty courtyard.
At my empty hands.
Back at me.
Then he wrote:
"Liar."
I stared at him, scandalized. "Excuse me?"
His lips twitched.
He was teasing.
Teasing me.
Oh, I was in deeper trouble than I thought.
---
We walked to class together as usual, the golden sparkles around him lingering softly. I wondered what caused the color change.
Happiness?
Excitement?
Me?
…No. That thought sent my heart into orbit, so I shoved it away quickly.
Inside the classroom, he sat down beside me and tapped gently on my notebook, then wrote:
"Can I ask something?"
"Anything," I said.
He hesitated longer than usual before writing the next words.
"Did you really see my sparkles yesterday?"
I nodded. "I've seen them since the first day we met."
He blinked, stunned.
I continued quietly, "I didn't know what they were at first. I thought they were just in my imagination. But… they change with your feelings, even when you don't realize it."
He lowered his eyes to the page, writing slowly:
"No one has ever noticed anything."
"Maybe no one looked carefully enough."
He paused, stunned by the simplicity of the answer.
Then—
he wrote something that made my pulse trip over itself.
"So you look carefully at me?"
I froze.
My entire brain short-circuited.
"I— That's not— I mean— You're just—"
I inhaled sharply.
"Forget I said anything."
He looked at me with quiet amusement, the golden sparkles pulsing like soft laughter.
Before I could bury myself alive, the teacher walked in, starting the lesson.
Saved by the bell.
But also… cursed by it.
---
The morning went by in a blur.
During second period, I caught a glimpse of him glancing at me every now and then—subtle, small, like checking if I was still there.
Each time, the sparkles softened.
During third period, he tapped my arm lightly when the teacher spoke too fast, and I wrote key points for him again.
He didn't even need to ask this time.
And during lunch, he held out another sweet glazed potato piece.
This time, I didn't argue.
I just leaned forward and took the bite.
His sparkles glowed warmly—like being proud of feeding me was now part of his personality.
I didn't mind.
Not even a little.
---
After school, we left the building slowly, neither of us in a hurry.
The air was cooler today, with a faint breeze rustling the leaves overhead. He walked beside me, hands tucked in his pockets, his steps matching mine naturally.
We reached the quiet road he preferred.
He breathed out softly—relief visible even without sparkles.
I smiled.
"You don't like noisy places much, do you?" I asked.
He shook his head.
Then wrote:
"They feel like pressure. Even if I don't hear, I still feel it here."
He pointed to his chest.
My heart tightened. "Then we'll take the quiet roads from now on."
He blinked.
Then wrote:
"We?"
I shrugged. "Well… unless you don't want me to walk with you anymore."
Before I could finish the sentence, the sparkles around him burst subtly, shifting into a deeper, richer gold.
Not bright.
Not overwhelming.
But warm.
So warm it brushed the edges of my skin.
He wrote immediately:
"I want you to."
I looked away, pretending a leaf on the sidewalk was suddenly very interesting.
But I couldn't hide the smile.
---
Halfway down the quiet road, he stopped.
Not suddenly—
but gently.
I turned.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he took out his notebook and wrote something slowly, carefully, almost nervously.
"Can I try something?"
My heartbeat jumped.
"…Okay."
He hesitated, fingers gripping the edge of the notebook.
Then he stepped closer.
Not close enough to touch—
but close enough that the space between us felt delicate, fragile, important.
He lifted his hands.
And signed something slowly.
I tried to follow the shapes, the movements of his fingers, the way his expression softened as he signed.
It was small.
Short.
Simple.
When he finished, he pointed at me.
I swallowed. "What does it mean?"
He wrote:
"My name."
"Oh," I whispered.
"So that's how you sign it."
He nodded once.
Then pointed at me again.
And signed a different small motion—
gentle, curved, almost like tracing a soft arc.
I blinked.
"And that?"
He wrote:
"Your name."
Warmth flooded my chest.
"You taught me your name… and mine?"
He hesitated.
Then added:
"Only if you want to use them."
I felt my throat tighten.
"Haejun," I said softly. "I want to."
His sparkles glowed so brightly they almost shimmered like sunlight through leaves.
And for the first time, I realized—
He wasn't just letting me into his world.
He was reaching for mine.
---
We walked the rest of the way slowly, both of us stealing small glances like two people trying very hard not to get caught looking.
At the fork in the road, he lifted his hand and signed my name again—soft, slow, gentle.
I signed his back.
A little awkward.
But he smiled.
Actually smiled.
Not a twitch.
Not an almost-smile.
A real, quiet smile that reached his eyes.
His sparkles fluttered around him like gold dust.
He wrote:
"See you tomorrow."
And I whispered:
"You will."
He lingered for three seconds—
three long, heavy, warm seconds—
before turning toward his street.
I stared after him long after he disappeared.
And when I finally turned toward home, I could still feel the warmth of his sparkles brushing against me like a promise that tomorrow would sparkle, too.