The next morning felt different.
The air, the light, the quietness of the school courtyard—everything carried a soft anticipation, as if something was waiting to happen. I arrived earlier than usual, partly out of habit, partly because I wanted to be there before he arrived.
I glanced toward the ginkgo tree.
Empty, again.
But this time, instead of panic tightening my chest, warmth settled in.
Because I knew—
he'd come.
He trusted me now.
Or at least, was learning how.
The courtyard slowly filled with students, voices rising like morning birds. I tucked my hair behind my ear and scanned the pathways, waiting for the soft shimmer of his sparkles.
A few minutes passed.
Then—
There.
A faint glow, soft pink and lavender, gently pulsing near the school gates.
And then he stepped into view.
Haejun.
A little shy.
A little unsure.
But here.
My heart warmed instantly.
He noticed me almost the same moment. His eyes softened in relief, and his sparkles brightened—a faint gold brushing the edges like morning sunlight.
He walked toward me slowly, carefully, each step deliberate.
And for the first time…
He didn't hesitate halfway.
He didn't look away.
He didn't waver.
When he reached me, he signed a quiet:
"Good morning."
It was simple—just two small signs.
But coming from him, it felt like a treasure.
I smiled softly. "Good morning."
He glanced around the courtyard, and his sparkles dimmed a little—overwhelmed by the noise, the crowd, the eyes.
I stepped closer. "You okay?"
He nodded, but his fingers tightened slightly around the strap of his bag.
Then something unexpected happened.
Someone noticed him.
Not just a glance.
Not the usual distant curiosity.
A girl from my class—bright, talkative, always surrounded by friends—approached hesitantly.
"Haejun?" she asked softly.
He froze.
I stepped instinctively between them, just a little, but she raised her hands placatingly.
"No—no, I'm not here to bother him! I just—" She bit her lip, clutching something to her chest. "I made more cookies yesterday. He liked the ones from lunch, right? I wanted to give these… um… to you. Both of you."
She held out a small paper bag tied with pink ribbon.
Haejun blinked in surprise.
His sparkles fluttered nervously.
I accepted the bag for him, smiling. "Thank you. That's really kind."
The girl nodded shyly. "Just… tell him he doesn't look alone anymore. It's nice to see."
Before I could respond, she hurried away.
I turned back to him slowly.
He looked stunned.
But not upset.
Not scared.
Just… overwhelmed by unexpected kindness.
He pulled out his notebook and wrote:
"Why would she do that?"
"Because you're worth caring about," I said softly.
His sparkles flickered.
"I did nothing."
he wrote.
"You exist," I corrected gently. "That's enough."
He stared at the words as if they were something foreign. Something he wasn't sure he deserved to hear.
Then he wrote, hesitantly:
"Did I look… different today?"
I looked at him fully then.
The softness in his eyes.
The steadiness in his sparkles.
The way he stood just a little closer.
More open.
More present.
"Yes," I whispered. "You looked like yourself."
His breath caught.
A faint golden glow shimmered from him—
soft, tentative, hopeful.
---
On the way to class
Students whispered as we walked together, but this time the whispers were different.
Less gossip.
More curiosity.
Some admiration.
Someone murmured, "He's glowing again today."
Another whispered, "He looks calmer."
And another, "She's always with him now, huh?"
Usually, comments like that would make him tense.
But today…
His sparkles stayed steady.
He even glanced at me once—as if checking if I was hearing the same things—and when he saw I wasn't bothered, something inside him eased.
We walked in comfortable silence.
At the classroom door, he paused again, waiting for me the way he had yesterday.
I couldn't help smiling. "Sitting together?"
He nodded immediately.
We entered.
But the moment we stepped in, everyone looked.
Not with judgment.
More like… surprise.
He didn't shrink away this time.
Just walked calmly to a seat beside mine.
His sparkles shimmered faintly, quiet but peaceful.
---
During class
He focused better today.
Wrote cleaner, steadier notes.
Didn't freeze when the teacher walked past.
But something did catch him off guard.
Halfway through the lesson, our teacher paused and looked at him warmly.
"Haejun," she said softly. "Yesterday must've been hard. But I'm glad you're here today."
He stiffened.
I leaned closer, whispering, "It's okay."
His sparkles trembled—silver, then pink.
The teacher continued, "And your written answer was excellent. Thank you for taking the time."
A small ripple went through the classroom—soft murmurs of approval.
I watched his reaction carefully.
He didn't shrink.
He didn't lower his head.
He simply glanced at me—with wide, unsure eyes—before looking down again.
Under the desk, his fingers trembled slightly.
But his sparkles stayed pink.
A good sign.
He opened his notebook and wrote:
"People are… different today."
I wrote back on my own page:
"Because you're letting them see a little bit more."
He stared at my words for a long time.
His sparkles shifted to a warm lavender, glowing faintly.
---
After class
As we gathered our things, something surprising happened.
A boy approached us—someone from the soccer team, popular and loud.
"Yo," he said awkwardly, scratching his neck. "Uh… I was a jerk before. Sorry."
I blinked.
He shrugged, embarrassed. "Someone said you play piano like crazy good, man. That's cool."
He walked off before either of us could react.
I turned to Haejun slowly.
His expression was blank.
Utterly blank.
Then he wrote:
"Why are people… nice today?"
I smiled softly.
"Because the world notices people who begin to shine."
He stared at me.
And then—
For the first time since I met him—
his sparkles brightened into a soft, glowing gold.
Not bright.
Not intense.
But gentle, warm, sincere.
Like he was finally letting a little light in.
He blinked at the shimmer, startled.
I touched his sleeve lightly. "It suits you."
His breath caught in his chest.
Then he signed, slow and shy:
"Does it?"
"Yes," I whispered. "Very much."
His eyes softened—sweet, vulnerable, warm.
And in that moment, something shifted quietly between us.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a soft realization settling into place.
He was beginning to believe.
In kindness.
In connection.
In himself.
And maybe—
just maybe—
in me.