Chapter 2

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.

🌸

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