One percent

Ju Min Ji

The morning arrived to easily

My alarm rang at the same time it always did. The sunlight crept through the curtains in the same gentle way. For a moment, I almost believed nothing had changed—that last night had been nothing more than a dream my mind had created out of exhaustion.

I got ready slowly, my movements careful, as if the wrong step might disturb something fragile. While tying my hair, my eyes drifted to the mirror. For a second, I hesitated, afraid of what I might see.

The number above my head was still the same.

Unmoving. Silent.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

On the dining table, Ri Sook barely looked at me. He seemed angry—still scrolling through reels on his phone, his face blank, emotionless. My mind was crowded with questions, especially about tomorrow, but the words refused to leave my throat.

That day, the walk from home to school felt unusually long.

“Min Ji?”

I turned toward Im Sol suddenly. “Huh? Yes, I’m listening,” I said with a small smile, shifting my gaze back to the road.

“What happened? Is something wrong?” Min Ji asked, worry evident in her voice.

“No, not at all. I’m just a little sleepy—I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I lied, pretending to yawn.

“Oh! My poor baby,” she said, and we both laughed.

Im Sol continued chatting beside me—about upcoming exams, random gossip—giving expressions wherever they were needed. I don’t know why, but my mind couldn’t stay focused on her words.

I looked around.

I didn’t know what I was searching for, but I think it was that presence—the one that always awakened a quiet hope inside me.

We entered the class, and Im Sol’s friends surrounded her, pulling her into conversation as I stepped back.

“Min Ji, give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” Im Sol said, her eyes full of concern, as I nodded slightly and whispered, “Okay.”

I felt that presence once more. I looked up and saw Nam Woo, he was with his friends. The same light seemed to hover above him, as if hundreds—no, millions—of points of love were shining around him.

As if he sensed my gaze, Nam Woo looked at me.

Our eyes met again.

This time, he didn’t look away. Neither did I. His gaze wasn’t confused—it was calm, gentle.

Students rushed past us as the bell rang, but no sound reached me except the frantic beating of my heart.

I blinked twice and lowered my eyes to the floor. My heart pounded painfully, its rhythm so loud it felt as if it might escape my body.

I took a deep breath and walked into the classroom.

Nam Woo wasn’t supposed to look at someone like me—yet he did. Not once, but twice.

He was a stranger to me, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like we had known each other for a long time—like two people pretending to be strangers despite sharing an unspoken history.

I kept thinking about him until the bell rang and class ended. I wanted to go home as fast as possible. I ran toward the stairs—but three girls blocked my path.

They were bullies.

“Hello, little girl,” the first one said, a smirk spreading across her face.

I chose to remain quiet.

“Let her go. I don’t think she has anything,” the second girl said, scanning me from head to toe with disgust in her eyes.

“But I don’t like her face,” the first girl replied, lifting my chin with her fingers.

I stepped back. “I’m sorry. Please let me go,” I said.

“Why are you sorry, baby? You know this word irritates me,” the third girl mocked, scrunching her nose.

“Oh! Her innocence kills me. Let her go,” the second girl added, smiling wickedly.

I started walking toward the stairs, sensing something was about to happen—and I was right.

The first girl pushed me.

“Oops!”

It was unexpected.