The alarm rang.

Min-jae didn’t move.

It kept ringing, vibrating slightly against the wooden table beside his bed, filling the room with a sharp, repetitive sound that felt louder than it actually was.

After a few seconds, he reached out blindly and turned it off.

Silence returned.

Not calm silence. Just… empty.

He stared at the ceiling again.

Same cracks. Same dull color. Same faint sound of the fan spinning unevenly.

Everything in his room felt still, like it had been paused a long time ago and never resumed.

He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to sit up.

Another day.

“Min-jae.”

His mother’s voice came from outside.

“You’re late.”

“I’m coming.”

He didn’t sound tired. He didn’t sound annoyed either.

He just sounded… flat.

Breakfast was quiet.

It always was.

His father sat across from him, already dressed, scrolling through his phone. His mother moved around the kitchen, placing food down, picking things up, doing everything except sitting.

Min-jae ate without tasting anything.

“Your test results came?” his father asked.

“…yeah.”

“And?”

“Seventy-eight.”

A small pause.

His father didn’t react much.

“You can do better.”

That was it.

Not harsh. Not angry.

Just… expectation.

His mother added from the side, “You’re not focused these days.”

Min-jae nodded slightly.

“I’ll improve.”

The words came automatically.

They always did.

The sky outside was grey.

Not raining. Not clear.

Just… stuck in between.

Min-jae walked to school with his earphones in, even though nothing was playing. The noise of the outside world felt easier to handle when it was slightly muted.

Students passed by him in small groups.

Talking. Laughing.

He walked past them like he wasn’t really part of the same space.

By the time he reached class, the room was already half full.

He took his usual seat near the window.

Not because he liked the view.

Because no one chose that seat unless they had to.

The teacher started explaining something at the board.

Min-jae opened his notebook.

The page stayed blank.

His pen rested between his fingers, unmoving.

His eyes followed the board, but nothing really stayed.

It was like listening to something from far away.

You hear it.

But you don’t process it.

“Min-jae, are you writing or just staring?”

The teacher’s voice cut through.

A few students turned.

Min-jae blinked, straightening slightly.

“I’m writing.”

He wasn’t.

The teacher didn’t push further.

She just continued.

That made it worse somehow.

Lunch break came with noise.

Chairs scraping, students rushing out, conversations filling the air instantly.

Min-jae stayed seated.

He waited.

He always waited until the room emptied.

It was easier that way.

When he finally stood up, he didn’t go to the canteen.

He rarely did.

Instead, he walked through the corridor without really thinking.

Not towards any specific place.

Just away from people.

He stopped near an empty classroom on the second floor.

The door was slightly open.

He pushed it gently.

No one inside.

Good.

The room smelled faintly of chalk and dust.

Sunlight fell across a few desks, leaving the rest in soft shadow.

Min-jae walked to the last bench.

Dropped his bag.

Sat down.

For a moment, he just stared at the desk in front of him.

Then slowly, he leaned forward, resting his head on his arms.

His eyes closed.

It wasn’t proper sleep.

Just… shutting everything off.

No voices.

No expectations.

No “you should do better.”

Just quiet.

Time passed.

The door opened at some point.

He didn’t notice.

Footsteps entered the room.

A pause.

Then—

“—oh!”

Warm liquid spread across his sleeve.

Min-jae jerked up instantly.

“What—”

His eyes adjusted quickly.

A girl stood beside his desk, holding a paper cup, now tilted slightly.

Coffee.

Spilled.

“I’m so sorry!” she said quickly. “I didn’t see you, I thought—”

Min-jae looked at his sleeve.

The stain was spreading slowly.

Warm. Sticky.

Annoying.

He clicked his tongue lightly under his breath.

“Seriously…?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

She froze for a second.

Then quickly pulled out tissues from her bag.

“Wait—here—”

“I said it’s fine,” he cut in, a little sharper this time.

It wasn’t fine.

But he didn’t want a whole situation out of it.

She paused.

Then instead of insisting, she quietly placed the tissues on his desk.

“In case,” she said softly.

That caught him off guard for a second.

Most people would’ve kept apologizing.

Explaining.

Trying to fix it.

She didn’t.

She just… left the option there.

There was a short silence.

Min-jae wiped his sleeve once, not really caring if it helped.

“You should be more careful,” he muttered.

It wasn’t loud.

But she heard it.

Instead of reacting, she nodded slightly.

“I will.”

Simple.

No attitude.

No argument.

For a moment, he looked at her properly.

She didn’t look uncomfortable.

Didn’t look scared either.

Just… calm.

Like this wasn’t a big deal.

Like he wasn’t a big deal either.

That was new.

“I’ll get another one,” she said, glancing at the half-empty cup.

Then she added, quieter, “Sorry.”

Again.

But not in a dramatic way.

Just… honest.

She turned and walked out.

No rushing.

No looking back.

The door closed softly behind her.

Min-jae stared at it for a second longer than necessary.

Then he looked down at the tissues.

Then at his sleeve.

“…great,” he muttered.

But his voice didn’t sound as annoyed anymore.

The room felt different now.

Still quiet.

But not the same kind of quiet.

He leaned back slightly, exhaling.

For the first time that day—

something had interrupted the routine.

Even if it was just coffee on his sleeve.

Later, when he returned to class, the noise felt the same again.

Students talking.

Laughing.

Living their lives like normal.

That’s when he noticed her again.

She was sitting two rows ahead, near the window on the opposite side.

Not alone.

Three girls sat around her.

Talking.

Laughing.

One of them nudged her lightly, saying something that made her smile.

Not loud.

Not attention-seeking.

Just… natural.

“She’s in your class?” someone whispered behind him.

“I think she transferred last month.”

“Her name is Hae-in, right?”

“Yeah.”

Hae-in.

The name settled somewhere in his mind.

Not important.

Just… noted.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t glance at him.

Didn’t act like anything had happened earlier.

That… bothered him slightly.

More than it should have.

By the end of the day, the sky had darkened a little.

Min-jae walked home the same way he always did.

Hands in pockets.

Earphones in.

Mind somewhere else.

At dinner, the conversation was predictable.

“Study properly.”

“Don’t waste time.”

“Focus on your future.”

He nodded at the right moments.

Answered when needed.

Stayed quiet otherwise.

Later that night, he lay in bed again.

Same ceiling.

Same faint clicking sound from the fan.

But his mind wasn’t completely blank this time.

It lingered somewhere.

On a small, random moment.

A girl.

A cup of coffee.

A calm “I know.”

He turned to his side, pulling the blanket slightly.

“…Hae-in,” he murmured quietly.

He didn’t know why he remembered her name.

Or why the moment stayed.

He just knew one thing—

He didn’t like her.

Not really.

Too casual.

Too comfortable.

Too… unbothered.

And people like that—

never made sense to him.

Outside, the sky remained grey.

Min-jae noticed the stain the next morning.

It had dried into a faint brown patch on the sleeve of his uniform. Not too visible unless you looked closely—but he saw it immediately.

Of course he did.

He stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds longer than usual, tugging slightly at the fabric like it would disappear if he tried hard enough.

It didn’t.

He exhaled quietly and let it go.

“Min-jae.”

His mother’s voice came again, same as yesterday. Same tone.

“You’ll be late.”

“I’m coming.”

He grabbed his bag and stepped out.

Breakfast felt exactly the same.

His father sat in the same chair, scrolling through his phone. His mother moved around the kitchen, placing things down, picking things up, all in a rhythm that never really changed.

Min-jae sat down.

A few bites.

No taste.

“You have extra classes today?” his mother asked.

“No.”

“You should join something,” she said. “You have too much free time.”

He nodded.

“I’ll see.”

His father finally spoke, eyes still on his phone.

“Instead of ‘seeing,’ decide something useful.”

Min-jae’s fingers tightened slightly around the spoon.

“…okay.”

That was enough.

The conversation ended.

On the way to school, the air felt a little cooler than yesterday.

Min-jae walked the same route, steps automatic, earphones in again—no music.

But this time, his mind wasn’t completely blank.

It drifted.

Back to the classroom.

To the sudden warmth on his sleeve.

To her voice—

“I’m so sorry.”

He frowned slightly, more at himself than the memory.

It wasn’t anything important.

Just an accident.

He shook his head lightly, like that would clear it.

School was the same.

Noise. Movement. People.

Min-jae slipped into his classroom and took his usual seat near the window.

Same desk.

Same view.

But when he placed his arm on the table, his eyes flickered to the faint stain again.

Annoying.

Classes passed slowly.

Words written on the board, notes copied half-heartedly, time dragging in that strange way where it feels both fast and slow at the same time.

Min-jae didn’t talk much.

No one really expected him to.

By lunch break, he didn’t wait as long as he usually did.

Not consciously.

He just… stood up earlier.

Before the classroom was completely empty.

He paused for a second after stepping into the corridor, unsure of where he was going.

The back of the building?

Or—

He stopped himself.

Why was he even thinking about it?

It didn’t matter.

Still, his steps turned toward the second floor.

Toward the empty classroom.

The door was open again.

He hesitated for a second.

Then pushed it slightly and stepped inside.

She was there.

Sitting on one of the desks near the window, legs swinging slightly, a paper cup in her hand.

For a second, Min-jae thought about leaving.

But she had already noticed him.

“Oh.”

Her eyes widened just a little.

“You came back.”

The words slipped out naturally, like she hadn’t planned them.

Then she blinked, realizing how that sounded.

“I mean—not like I was waiting or anything—I just—this classroom is usually empty and—”

She stopped herself.

A small pause.

“…hi.”

Min-jae stood there for a moment.

Then gave a small nod.

“Hi.”

Silence settled for a second.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… unsure.

She hopped down from the desk, holding up her cup slightly.

“No accidents today,” she said lightly.

Min-jae glanced at it.

“…that’s good.”

Another pause.

“I brought extra tissues,” she added, almost like an afterthought, pulling them slightly out of her bag.

Min-jae let out a very small breath through his nose.

Not quite a laugh.

But close.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said.

Same answer as yesterday.

He walked to the last bench again and sat down.

This time, he didn’t put his head down.

He just… sat.

She stayed where she was for a moment, then moved to the desk in front of him, turning slightly so she was facing him.

Not too close.

Not too far.

“Your sleeve okay?” she asked.

He looked down at it.

“…yeah.”

“It looks like it’ll stay forever,” she said, tilting her head slightly.

“Probably.”

“That’s kind of my fault.”

“You already said sorry.”

“I know,” she said again, a faint smile forming.

Min-jae looked at her properly for the first time.

She didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

No fake expressions.

No forced friendliness.

Just… normal.

“I’m Hae-in,” she said after a second.

Min-jae blinked slightly.

Right.

Names.

“…Min-jae.”

She nodded.

“Yeah, I heard someone call you that yesterday.”

Of course.

Another pause.

But it didn’t feel as heavy this time.

“You always come here?” she asked.

“…sometimes.”

“That means yes.”

He didn’t correct her.

“I like quiet places too,” she said, glancing around the room. “It’s easier to think.”

Min-jae thought about that.

“I don’t really think here.”

She looked back at him.

“Then what do you do?”

“…nothing.”

She considered that for a second.

“Sounds peaceful.”

He didn’t reply.

But something about that answer felt… different.

Most people would’ve said it was weird.

The bell rang.

Loud. Sudden.

Breaking whatever that moment was.

Hae-in stood up, adjusting her bag.

“I have class.”

Min-jae nodded.

“…same.”

They walked out of the classroom together, but not exactly together.

A small distance between them.

Not awkward.

Just… unspoken.

“See you,” she said lightly before turning into another corridor.

Min-jae paused for half a second.

Then, quietly—

“…yeah.”

The rest of the day felt normal again.

Classes. Notes. Noise.

But something small had changed.

He noticed it when he almost looked toward the door once.

Like he was expecting something.

He stopped himself.

At home, the air felt heavier than usual.

Min-jae noticed it the moment he stepped in.

His parents were already in the living room.

Talking.

Not loudly.

But serious.

They stopped when they saw him.

“You’re late,” his mother said.

“Extra class,” he replied.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

But not fully true either.

His father looked at him for a moment.

“Come sit.”

Min-jae placed his bag down slowly and sat across from him.

“We were talking about your future,” his father said.

The words felt familiar.

Too familiar.

“You need to start thinking seriously,” his mother added. “This is not the time to be careless.”

“I’m not—”

“Your marks say otherwise,” his father cut in.

Min-jae stopped.

His fingers tightened slightly against his knee.

“You have potential,” his father continued. “But you’re not using it.”

“I am trying.”

“Trying is not enough.”

Silence.

Heavy. Pressing.

His mother spoke again, softer this time—but not gentler.

“We’re saying this for your own good.”

Min-jae nodded.

“…I know.”

“You should reduce distractions,” his father said.

Min-jae’s mind flickered, just for a second.

A classroom. A paper cup. A voice saying “No accidents today.”

He pushed the thought away immediately.

“I don’t have distractions,” he said.

His father held his gaze for a moment.

“Good.”

The conversation ended there.

Just like always.

Later that night, Min-jae sat at his desk again.

Books open.

Pen in hand.

He read the same line three times.

Nothing stayed.

After a while, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

The same faint clicking sound from the fan filled the room.

His eyes drifted to his sleeve again.

The faint brown stain.

Still there.

And without really meaning to—

his mind went back.

To that classroom.

To the way she didn’t make things awkward.

To the way she said “I know” like it was enough.

“…weird,” he muttered quietly.

He looked back at his book.

Then closed it.

For a moment—

just a small one—

he wondered if he’d go to that classroom again tomorrow.

He didn’t answer himself.

But he didn’t completely ignore the thought either.

Outside, the night was quiet.

Still.

And somewhere between routine and something slightly different—

something small had started.

Not big enough to notice.

Not strong enough to change anything.

But enough—

to not feel exactly the same as before.

🌸