The morning air buzzed differently that day.
Our school courtyard was already crowded with banners, food stalls, and students racing around with props and decorations. The annual spring festival — the one day every student pretended the weight of exams didn't exist.
I wasn't supposed to care. I never did. Festivals were just another excuse to hang out, flirt, play the role everyone expected of me: Han Joon, the charming "loverboy" who could make any girl laugh.
But this year, something was off. I wasn't looking for laughter. I was looking for Eun Ji.
Festival Preparations
"Yo, Han Joon!" Hwan waved, his hands full of paintbrushes. "You're on decoration duty with Class 2-A. Try not to flirt with every girl holding a glue gun, alright?"
"Relax," I said, grinning. "I'm retired. New era."
He raised a brow. "Retired? You? Yeah, sure."
I ignored him and made my way toward the art room, where Eun Ji was supposed to be helping with the booth's design. When I arrived, she was there — sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by paint cans and cardboard, her hair tied loosely behind her neck.
She looked peaceful, even in chaos.
"Need a hand?" I asked.
Without looking up, she replied, "As long as you're not here to talk."
That made me laugh quietly. "Then I'll stay quiet."
She passed me a brush without another word. So I painted. We worked side by side, saying nothing, just the sound of paint strokes and faint music from someone's speaker filling the room. And for some reason, that silence felt comfortable — like I'd been waiting for it all week.
A Moment Between Us
After an hour, she finally broke the silence.
"You're… not what people say you are."
I looked up from the poster. "What do people say I am?"
She hesitated, dabbing her brush in red paint. "They say you're loud. That you don't take anything seriously. That you play with hearts."
"And what do you think?"
She paused again. Her eyes met mine for a second — steady, unflinching. "I think people only see what they want to see."
Her voice was calm, but the words hit deeper than she probably realized.
Most people saw the act. The jokes. The easy smiles. No one ever asked if it was just armor.
"You talk like you see through people," I said quietly.
"Not through," she said. "Just… past the noise."
I smiled. "You really don't like noise, huh?"
Her lips curved slightly — a ghost of a smile. "You're starting to get it."
The School Festival Begins
By midday, the school was alive. Students in costumes yelled for attention, bands played in the courtyard, and the smell of tteokbokki filled the air. I walked through it all with Eun Ji beside me, both of us assigned to sell tickets for the art exhibit.
Every few minutes, someone would call out my name — an upperclassman, a friend, an old fling pretending we'd never texted. Eun Ji noticed, of course, but said nothing. She didn't look jealous or annoyed. Just… observant.
"You know a lot of people," she said eventually.
"Knowing people isn't the same as being close to them."
She looked at me, curious. "So you're not close with anyone?"
I hesitated, then shrugged. "Hwan, maybe. The rest… they like the version of me that smiles. Not the one that thinks."
"That's lonely," she said softly.
It wasn't a question — just a quiet truth.
Under the Lanterns
The sun sank slowly, and the festival lights came alive — strings of yellow lanterns swaying in the breeze. Music floated through the air, soft and dreamy.
We were cleaning up near the courtyard when I noticed Eun Ji rubbing her wrist. "You okay?" I asked.
"Just tired. It's been a long day."
"Come on," I said. "There's a bench near the back garden. It's quiet there."
She followed without protest. We sat under a tree, the glow of lanterns reflecting off her face. The night air carried a chill, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, quietly, she said, "You're different when no one's watching."
I chuckled. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not," she said. "It's just… surprising."
I turned toward her. "How so?"
"Most people pretend to be better than they are when others are watching. You pretend to be worse."
That made me laugh, genuinely this time. "Guess I'm just backwards."
"Maybe," she said. "But it's more honest."
Our eyes met, and for a moment, the noise of the festival disappeared — just her voice, the lantern light, and that quiet sense of understanding that didn't need words.
A Small Spark
Then came the announcement — the fireworks. Everyone rushed to the field to watch. I stood with her at the edge of the crowd, shoulders barely brushing.
The first explosion of color lit up the night sky, reds and blues reflecting in her eyes. She smiled faintly, her first real smile since I met her.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Yeah," I murmured, though I wasn't looking at the fireworks anymore.
For the first time, I wasn't thinking about what to say next or how to act. I just wanted the moment to last.
And as the sky burned bright above us, I realized something simple, something terrifying:
I was starting to like her.
Not the way I liked attention or admiration.
But the kind of liking that makes silence feel full.
The Walk Home
When the fireworks ended, the crowd scattered, leaving quiet laughter echoing in the distance. Eun Ji and I walked side by side through the nearly empty streets.
"You're quiet," I said softly.
"I'm always quiet," she replied, smiling faintly.
"No, this is different. You're… thinking."
She laughed lightly — a small, rare sound that made my heart jump. "You think too much, Han Joon."
"Maybe. But tonight, I think that's okay."
We reached the corner where our paths split. She stopped and looked up at me. "Thanks for walking with me."
"Anytime."
As she turned to leave, I wanted to say something — anything to keep her there. But I didn't. I let her go, because somehow, that silence between us felt more meaningful than words ever could.
Late Night Reflection
Back home, I stared at the glow of my phone screen, the photo Hwan had sent me from the festival — me and Eun Ji in the background, standing under the lanterns.
I didn't look like the "loverboy" everyone talked about. I looked… normal. Maybe even happy.
For once, I didn't hate the person in the picture.