The storm didn't begin with thunder.
It began with whispers.
At first, I thought I was imagining things.
Little fragments of conversation—too soft to be understood, too sharp to be ignored—drifted through the hallways like mist.
It started after lunch. The cafeteria was loud, as always, but there was a strange stillness just beneath the noise. A subtle shift. Like the moment before a downpour, when the air changes.
Whispers rolled like raindrops on glass.
Smooth.
But cold.
"Saanvi… is that the transfer girl who's always with Jisoo?"
"Did you see them at the library last week? Just the two of them."
"I heard they were alone. On the rooftop. At night."
"Even during the field trip? Seriously?"
I sat at my usual table, my tray untouched. The kimchi stew smelled the same as every other Wednesday. The rice was steaming, the seaweed salad limp from sitting too long.
But nothing tasted right.
I kept my head down, but my ears caught everything.
The chopsticks tapping nervously.
The soft laughter that wasn't kind.
The pause in conversations when I walked by.
By seventh period, the weight in the air had grown thicker—like breathing through gauze.
Even the sound of chalk against the board seemed distant. Everyone was watching me, even when they pretended not to. I could feel it: the sidelong glances, the quick hush when I turned around, the tension that curled around my shoulders like invisible threads.
I didn't know what rumor had started or who had started it.
But I knew who it was about.
Me.
And Jisoo.
When the bell rang, the classroom didn't erupt into noise like it normally did. No one rushed out. They lingered. Some leaned over to whisper into their friend's ear, eyes flicking toward me.
I tried to ignore it. Like always.
I told myself it would pass.
Everything passes.
It's just wind.
But then I opened my locker.
And a sticky note floated out.
Bright yellow.
Thin handwriting. Sharp strokes.
I didn't need to read it twice.
"Don't get too comfortable. He's not yours."
My fingers froze mid-air.
And for the first time since I arrived in Seoul… it wasn't homesickness that weighed me down.
It was something colder.
Something lonelier.
Like standing in the middle of a crowd and realizing you were never really part of it.
---
The announcement came just as I was packing my bag.
"Saanvi, please report to the faculty office."
The words echoed through the loudspeaker, casual but final.
I walked slowly.
Like each step might break something.
Like the hallway had grown longer since morning.
I passed familiar posters on the walls—club announcements, midterm reminders, that faded photo of last year's top scorer still pinned near the stairwell.
But everything looked different.
Sharper.
Like a world seen through broken glass.
When I reached the office, the door was already open.
Inside, my homeroom teacher sat stiffly behind the desk, lips pressed in a thin line. Next to him, the principal—arms folded, expression unreadable.
Across from them, seated with perfect posture—Jisoo.
And next to him…
Her.
His mother.
She was everything I imagined she'd be.
Elegant. Untouchable. The kind of woman who always wore pearl earrings and never forgot appointments. Her pale blue suit didn't have a single wrinkle, and the brooch pinned to her collar looked expensive enough to have its own bank account.
She didn't look at me.
She looked through me.
Like I was a speck of dust she hadn't expected to see.
The principal cleared his throat.
"There have been… concerns. About student conduct."
Jisoo sat straighter. "We didn't do anything wrong."
His mother didn't even glance at him.
"Spending time alone on rooftops," she said, voice calm but cold. "Late-night meetings. Distraction from academics. It's… inappropriate."
I opened my mouth.
Tried to explain.
But the words stumbled.
"We were just… talking."
Her eyes met mine.
Sharp.
Surgical.
"You're from Busan, aren't you?" she asked.
Like my hometown was a blemish.
"Transfer students often have difficulty adjusting. I suggest you focus on your studies."
It wasn't what she said.
It was how she said it.
Like I didn't belong.
Like I was a problem to be corrected.
I nodded, barely.
Said nothing else.
The meeting ended shortly after that.
No one asked if I had questions.
No one said goodbye.
---
The rain had started while we were inside.
Of course it had.
Seoul's skies loved to cry when I couldn't.
I walked alone through the courtyard, not bothering to open my umbrella. My shoes soaked quickly. The ends of my uniform stuck to my legs.
But I didn't care.
I wanted to disappear into the rain.
Let it wash away the whispers.
The note.
The way she had looked at me.
"Saanvi!"
I didn't expect the voice behind me.
Didn't expect footsteps splashing to catch up.
Didn't expect Jisoo—umbrella in hand, breathing hard.
He reached my side and held the umbrella over both of us.
"I didn't know she'd come," he said. "She never shows up to school stuff."
I kept walking.
Didn't look at him.
"It's fine."
"No, it's not."
He stepped in front of me, stopping me. His eyes—usually unreadable, always distant—burned now with something fierce.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said. "I should've said that louder."
I glanced up, raindrops clinging to my eyelashes.
"You did."
"Not enough."
He hesitated.
The rain hissed all around us like a hundred whispering voices.
Then, for the first time, he stepped closer.
Not hiding behind his hoodie.
Not half-turned away.
Just there.
Facing me.
Present.
"Next time," Jisoo said, "I'll say it so the whole school hears."
And just like that
For a moment
The storm in my chest quieted.