There are different kinds of loneliness.
There's the kind where you sit alone at lunch.
And then there's the kind where you exist quietly enough that the world forgets to notice you're alive.
I've always been the second type.
My name is Han Jisoo, and I learned young that invisibility is safer than attention.
Attention brings questions. Questions bring hands. Hands bring pain.
So I became small.
Soft voice. Careful steps. Sleeves pulled down even in summer. Smiles practiced in mirrors so nobody would ever look long enough to wonder why my eyes never match them.
When I transferred to Haedam Academy, I promised myself one thing:
No attachments.
No being seen.
No one close enough to hurt me.
I didn't know someone had already chosen me the moment I walked into the classroom.
He sat by the window like he owned the quiet.
Kang Minjae.
The first thing I noticed wasn't his face. It was the stillness. Everyone else moved laughed, shifted, whispered, scrolled.
He didn't.
He watched.
Not lazily. Not idly.
Carefully.
Like silence was his language too.
And somehow, his eyes found me before I even sat down.
I felt it that strange tightening in my chest when someone looks too deeply. Most people glance and look away. They see a shy transfer student and lose interest.
But Minjae kept looking.
Not like I was pretty.
Not like I was new.
Like he'd found something fragile behind glass.
Something already cracked.
For days after, I kept catching him staring.
In class.
In the hallway.
Even when I lowered my head, I could feel it that weight of attention pressing softly against my back.
It should have scared me.
It did.
But there was something worse underneath the fear.
Relief.
Because his gaze didn't feel mocking like the others. It didn't measure me. It didn't judge.
It understood.
And being understood is dangerous for people like me.
Today I dropped my pen during class.
A stupid mistake. A small sound. But when it hit the floor, my heart jumped like it used to at home sharp, panicked, breath caught.
Before I could even bend down, a hand picked it up.
Him.
Minjae placed the pen gently on my desk.
His fingers brushed mine for only a second, but it felt like he touched something deeper than skin.
"You flinch a lot," he whispered.
I froze.
Nobody had ever said that aloud before.
I forced a smile like always. "I'm just jumpy."
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he already solved.
"No," he said softly. "You're scared."
Not cruel.
Not teasing.
Certain.
My throat tightened.
He didn't expose me. Didn't laugh. Didn't push further.
He just smiled faintly.
"I won't tell," he murmured.
And something inside me something tired and aching and lonely cracked open just a little.
Because that sounded like safety.
Because I wanted to believe him.
After school, I walked fast like usual, eager to escape before the halls filled.
But he was waiting near the stairs.
Like he knew my route.
Like he'd memorized it.
"You're always running," he said calmly.
I clutched my bag. "I like going home early."
He looked at me for a long moment not at my face, but at my hands, my sleeves, the way my shoulders curled inward.
He sees everything, I realized.
Notices everything.
Then he stepped aside slowly, giving me space.
But his voice followed me down the hall.
"You don't have to run here, Jisoo."
The way he said my name sounded warm.
Like a promise.
Like he had already decided something I didn't understand yet.
And for the first time since transferring…
I didn't feel invisible.
I felt chosen.
And people like me don't know it yet, but the moment someone chooses your broken parts, they never really let them go.
Even when you leave.