Chapter Four: “Do You Ever Feel Lonely?”

The days after our reunion felt brighter, as if the world had shifted slightly. I was only thirteen, still in eighth class, but something about Eunho’s presence made me feel older, braver, and strangely restless.

At school, I found myself distracted. My friends teased me for staring out the window during math, my notebook filled with doodles instead of equations. I wasn’t thinking about formulas or exams — I was thinking about Eunho’s smile, the way he had said, “More confident. More you.”

Even at home, Yeong‑woo noticed. “You’re acting weird,” he said one evening, tossing a pillow at me. “Stop daydreaming.”

I glared at him, but my cheeks betrayed me, warming instantly. He laughed, knowing he had struck a nerve.

That night, I logged into the game. Eunho was already online.

“Kiddo,” he typed, “ready for battle?”

I smiled at the screen. “Always.”

We played for hours, our voices overlapping in laughter and teasing. He praised my quick reflexes, and I teased him about being slower because he was “too old.” He sent me a string of laughing emojis, and I felt a rush of pride.

But beneath the fun, there was something else — a quiet comfort. Talking to him felt different from talking to anyone else. He listened, he teased, but he also understood.

After the match ended, he messaged: Don’t stay up too late. You have school tomorrow.

I rolled my eyes, typing back: “You sound like my mom.”

Maybe I should, he replied. Someone has to keep you in line.

I laughed, but my heart fluttered.

The following weekend, Eunho invited me and Yeong‑woo to join him at a small park near his apartment. My parents were still away on their business trip, so Yeong‑woo was in charge of me. He grumbled about babysitting, but I didn’t care. I was too excited.

The park was quiet, filled with the sound of cicadas and the rustle of summer leaves. Eunho was already there, sitting on a bench with a book in his hand. He looked up as we approached, his smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he greeted. “You made it.”

Yeong‑woo immediately ran off to play basketball with some boys nearby, leaving me alone with Eunho.

I sat beside him, trying to act casual. “What are you reading?”

He showed me the cover. “A history book. Boring, right?”

I shook my head. “Not boring. Just… serious.”

He chuckled. “You always surprise me, Seyeon. Most kids your age would call it torture.”

“I’m not most kids,” I said proudly.

He looked at me for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. “No, you’re not.”

We talked about school, about games, about little things. The conversation flowed easily, like it always did. But then, out of nowhere, he asked: “Do you ever feel lonely?”

The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, then nodded. “Sometimes. Especially when my parents are away. Yeong‑woo is… well, Yeong‑woo. He doesn’t really understand me.”

Eunho leaned back, his gaze soft. “I get that. I felt the same when I was younger. But you’ll find people who understand you. People who make you feel less alone.”

I looked at him, my heart thudding. “Like you?”

He smiled gently. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. I wanted to say more, to tell him how much his kindness meant to me, but the words stuck in my throat.

Later that evening, back at home, Yeong‑woo teased me endlessly. “You looked like a lost puppy sitting next to him,” he said, laughing.

“Shut up!” I snapped, throwing a cushion at him.

But deep down, I knew he was right. I had looked at Eunho like that. And I didn’t know how to stop.

That night, lying in bed, I thought about Eunho’s question. Do you ever feel lonely?

Yes. I did. But when I was with him, even just talking through a game, the loneliness faded. He was seven years older, already twenty, living in a world far bigger than mine. Yet somehow, he made me feel seen.

Weeks passed, and our bond grew stronger. We played games on weekends, sometimes with his friends, sometimes just the two of us. He teased me, called me “kiddo,” but also encouraged me, praised me, and listened when I rambled about school or my dreams.

One evening, after a long match, I asked him: “Do you ever regret growing up?”

He laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean… being older. Having responsibilities. Work. Don’t you miss being free?”

He thought for a moment. “Sometimes. But growing up also means meeting people who change your life. Like you.”

My breath caught. “Me?”

He nodded. “You’re different, Seyeon. Unique. Don’t ever forget that.”

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. I wanted to reply, but all I managed was a simple: “Thanks.”

One night, after another long day at school, I logged in to find Eunho offline. I waited, disappointed, until finally I messaged him on WeChat.

Busy again?

Minutes later, his reply came: Sorry, kiddo. Work. But I’ll call you tomorrow.

True to his word, he called the next evening. Hearing his voice through the phone felt different — closer, more real. We talked for hours, about everything and nothing.

At one point, he asked: “Do you ever wonder what you’ll be like when you’re twenty?”

I laughed. “That’s forever away.”

“Not really,” he said. “Time passes faster than you think.”

I grew quiet. “Will you still talk to me then?”

There was a pause. Then his voice, steady and warm: “Of course.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts tangled. I was only thirteen, still a tomboy in eighth class, but Eunho made me feel like I was stepping into a bigger world.

I didn’t know what this feeling was — admiration, friendship, something more? All I knew was that his kindness had become my comfort, his presence my secret joy.

And though I couldn’t name it yet, I knew one thing: Eunho was becoming a part of me.

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