The final bell rang, echoing through the hallway like a gentle announcement that the day was finally over.
Students rushed out, chattering, laughing, complaining.
But I stayed seated, packing my things slowly, waiting for… well… him.
Jin Haejun.
He was erasing the last bit of chalk from the classroom board, something he volunteered to do every day.
His movements were unhurried and quiet, almost graceful, as if silence was a place he felt safe in.
I wondered if he liked staying behind so he didn't have to push through crowds or noise.
When he finished, he placed the eraser neatly on the teacher's desk, slipped his notebook into his bag, and came over to me.
No sparkles flickered yet — meaning he wasn't feeling anything strong.
But when his eyes met mine—
A soft green shimmer glowed.
Like greeting lights.
He signed something small with one hand, his gestures slow.
I shook my head. "I don't know that sign yet… sorry."
He pulled out his notebook.
"Ready?"
My lips tugged up into a smile before I could stop it. "Yes."
We walked out together, quiet but comfortable.
The hallway buzzed with people, but he kept a half-step closer to me whenever a group passed.
Like he was instinctively guiding me.
Protectively.
My heart fluttered embarrassingly.
Once we stepped outside, the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and autumn.
Students scattered toward buses, bikes, and the neighborhood streets.
"Where are we going?" I asked softly.
He thought for a moment, then wrote:
"Somewhere quieter."
I nodded.
Quieter meant better for him.
Quieter meant… more time to talk.
Or well—
for him to write
and for me to happily read.
---
He led me down a small path behind the school building.
It wasn't a place most students used, shaded with trees and lined with cracked concrete.
There was a bench tucked under a large ginkgo tree, golden leaves drifting down around it like tiny sunset flakes.
Haejun sat first, then waited for me to take the other side — leaving just enough space between us to feel safe but close.
I tucked my hands on my lap. "So… um… what did you want to talk about?"
He took out his notebook again.
"About earlier."
My stomach tightened. "Earlier… which part?"
Slowly, he wrote:
"The whispers."
Oh.
I dropped my gaze, feeling small.
"I wasn't… really… listening," I lied again.
He tapped my shoulder lightly with the back of his pen.
Not hard.
Not accusing.
Just enough to make me look up.
Then he wrote a single word in large, clear letters:
"Don't."
I blinked. "Don't… what?"
He flipped to the next page.
"Don't hide your feelings."
Heat shot up into my cheeks instantly.
"W-what feelings? I don't— I didn't—"
He lifted one eyebrow.
Just slightly.
But enough to stop my babbling.
I took a shaky breath. "Okay… maybe I did feel upset. But I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
He listened quietly, his eyes steady.
"They said you don't talk to anyone," I whispered. "That I was forcing you. And that's not true. I'd never…"
My voice faded.
He wrote slowly.
"I know."
I stared at the word, soft warmth building in my chest.
He wrote again:
"I wanted to talk to you."
My heart did a backflip.
"O-okay… but why?" I whispered, too embarrassed to breathe properly.
He hesitated for the first time since we sat down.
The sparkles around him flickered — nervous, shy, unsure.
Then he wrote:
"You didn't look away."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
He paused, tapping the pen lightly against the notebook's edge.
Then he wrote more.
"When I couldn't hear the teacher.
When I didn't answer fast.
When the others stared.
You didn't look away."
Oh.
Oh.
My breath hitched.
He turned the page and wrote something softer now:
"People don't usually wait for me."
My chest tightened.
Not with pity.
But with something deeper.
"Then I'll wait," I said quietly. "I don't mind."
He froze.
A tiny flicker of surprise flashed in his expression.
Then the sparkles around him burst softly — like glowing confetti.
He scribbled fast.
"You don't mind?"
"I don't," I repeated firmly. "Not even a little."
He stared at me for so long I began shifting nervously.
Finally, he lowered the notebook slightly, revealing a tiny smile he probably didn't realize he was making.
Just the smallest curve of his lips.
But it hit me harder than sunlight.
---
After a moment, he wrote again:
"About my hearing…"
I stopped breathing.
Not because I was scared, but because I knew he was trusting me with something real.
He wrote slowly this time.
"It's not steady. Some days better. Some days worse."
I nodded, listening carefully.
He continued:
"When there's a lot of noise, I can't hear anything clearly."
Another page flip.
"People talk behind me. I don't always know."
He paused.
My throat tightened.
He wrote the next line in smaller handwriting:
"Sometimes I pretend not to notice."
I swallowed hard.
"But I notice," he added softly on the next line.
The sparkles dimmed slightly — a shade of sadness only I could see.
I reached out before I could stop myself.
My hand brushed his sleeve gently.
He went still, not pulling away, but his sparkles gave a surprised flutter.
"You don't have to pretend with me," I whispered.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he wrote:
"You see things."
I froze.
"W-what do you mean?"
"You look at people like you can… read them," the notebook said.
My heartbeat stumbled.
Had he noticed?
How could I explain something nobody else knew?
"I just… pay attention," I said softly.
He studied me for a moment more, but didn't push.
Instead, he wrote:
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For understanding."
"…You barely explained anything."
"You understood anyway."
My chest felt warm.
---
A gust of wind blew golden leaves around us.
One landed on his shoulder.
Without thinking, I reached out and plucked it off.
He blinked, surprised.
The sparkles around him glimmered faint green.
I froze, embarrassed. "S-sorry—"
He shook his head.
Then wrote:
"You're gentle."
"Eh?!"
He added:
"Most people are loud."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but the warmth in his eyes made my face go hot.
---
The sun dipped lower, turning the sky soft and orange.
He wrote one last thing.
"Will you walk home with me?"
I stared.
Then nodded slowly. "If you want me to."
He wrote:
"I do."
We stood up together.
He waited for me to gather my bag, then adjusted the strap of his own.
His sparkles weren't bright now.
They were calm.
Steady.
Warm.
Like the beginning of something quietly beautiful.