The classroom was already loud when I stepped inside. Voices overlapped, chairs screeched against the floor, and bags thumped against desks. The air carried the faint mix of pencil shavings, floor polish, and the lingering scent of bread someone must have snuck in for breakfast.
It was the same kind of chaos I'd grown used to pretending didn't bother me. Pretending was easier than admitting it did.
Noise always felt like it belonged to other people. The laughter, the shouts, the casual greetings that spilled from one mouth to another—it was a language I didn't speak anymore.
I walked straight to my desk. My desk now, next to the boy by the window. Kang Minjae.i think That's what the teacher had called him yesterday.
He was already there, notebook open, pen balanced between his fingers. His hair had fallen into his eyes again, and the sunlight pouring through the window softened the sharp edges of his face.
His skin looked warmer in the glow, almost gentle than it was.
He looked like the type who wanted to disappear into the background but couldn't quite manage it. The kind of person whose quietness wasn't deliberate but clumsy. Maybe that was why the teacher had paired us—two boys who didn't seem to belong anywhere else.
"Morning," he said quietly, his voice hesitant, like he wasn't sure if I would reply.
For half a second, the word almost escaped my lips. Morning. Just one syllable, harmless.
But I swallowed it back down.
Experience had taught me that people always expected more once you gave them even a little. If you spoke, they wanted to know more. If you opened up, they tried to come closer. And sooner or later, they left.
So I stayed quiet.
Instead, I slid my notebook out and set my pen against the page. I didn't write notes. I didn't even pretend to. Instead, I pressed down hard, dragging dark, sharp lines across the paper until The nib almost ripped through the paper. The scratching sound steadied me, gave me something I could control.
Still, I felt his eyes on me. A flicker, quick and cautious, but there. He was watching.
The teacher's voice carried from the front of the room, explaining something about the upcoming syllabus, but it washed over me like meaningless static. I hadn't listened properly in years. School wasn't about learning anymore—it was about surviving the hours until I could leave. Passing time until I could step back into the quiet of an empty house. Silence was easier.
"Minjae."
The teacher's sharp tone cut through my thoughts. Minjae jumped in his seat, his pen slipping and clattering against the desk. The class burst into giggles, whispers darting like sparks in the air. His face flushed little red as he fumbled with his notebook.
For a brief moment, something stirred inside me. Not amusement exactly, but a crack in the monotony. Watching him stumble through the moment, red-eared and flustered, made him look…
human.
Real.
Someone who could be embarrassed and still manage to keep breathing.
My pen stilled. I found myself staring longer than I should have, my gaze lingering on the curve of his hand, the way his shoulders tightened. Then I realized I'd been caught in my own hesitation. I dropped my eyes quickly, dragging another line across the corner of my page until it darkened into near black.
The period dragged on. A girl behind me whispered too loudly to her friend about weekend plans. A boy across the room tapped his pencil in an uneven rhythm that grated at my ears. The teacher coughed twice, sounding more tired than stern. All of it blurred into the background noise I'd trained myself to ignore.
When the bell finally rang, the classroom erupted. Desks scraped back, chairs toppled noisily into place, footsteps thundered across the floor. The sound was overwhelming, laughter bouncing against the walls as everyone spilled out in pairs and groups.
I stayed seated. There was no reason to rush.
From the corner of my vision, I caught Minjae moving slowly, as though careful not to disturb me. His bag strap slipped down his shoulder, making a soft dragging sound. Without meaning to, I glanced up.
Our eyes met.
His expression froze—startled, almost guilty, like he hadn't expected me to look back. His eyes were dark but not sharp; warm, hesitant, curious.
ba-thump
For a single heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.
The noise of the classroom seemed to fade, shrinking until it was just the two of us in that fragile moment. Something pressed against the edge of my chest,
unfamiliar and uneasy.
What was that?
I turned away first, breaking the connection. It was too much, too fast.
I stood, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked out without a word. The door closed softly behind me, shutting out the echo of chatter, the weight of eyes that lingered too long, the expectation I couldn't carry.
The hallway stretched ahead, lined with posters peeling at the corners, lockers dented from years of careless slams. Students' voices carried in pockets from different directions—someone shouting for a friend, someone laughing too loud, someone already complaining about homework.
I walked through it like a shadow moving against light.
Silence followed me down the corridor, wrapping itself around my steps.
But for the first time in a long while, it didn't feel as empty as it used to.