The sky was painted in soft pastels when the final bell rang — lavender clouds drifting lazily across fading blue. Most students rushed out the school gates with loud voices and backpacks bouncing, but we moved slower.
Partly because he always walked at a gentler pace.
Partly because neither of us wanted the day to end.
"Do you… want to walk home together?" I asked.
His sparkles brightened, a soft warm pink. He glanced at me, then signed a small, shy:
"Okay."
We stepped outside. The autumn air was crisp without being cold, carrying the smell of dry leaves and distant street food. I tugged my bag higher on my shoulder while he hugged his notebook close to his chest, as he always did — like a shield he no longer needed but wasn't ready to put down.
The sidewalk was lined with fallen ginkgo leaves, their golden color bright against the pavement. He stepped lightly, deliberately avoiding crushing any of them. I watched him for a moment, amused.
"You know," I teased gently, "you can step on the leaves. They won't file a complaint."
He looked up at me with wide, almost offended eyes.
His sparkles popped with a quiet silver flick, like a startled firefly.
Then he wrote:
"They look too pretty to step on."
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
He blinked at me — surprised, then quietly pleased.
Pink shimmered around him like a soft blush.
We continued walking in comfortable silence for a moment. The kind of silence that didn't feel empty. A silence that felt shared.
---
A Small Crowd Ahead
As we turned a corner, a cluster of students stood near the bus stop, chatting and laughing. Haejun slowed. His sparkles dimmed slightly as he took in the noise, the unpredictability — the possibility of eyes turning toward him.
I touched his sleeve lightly. "We can go around if you want."
He shook his head after a moment of thinking.
Then wrote:
"I can try."
Pride filled my chest — warm and swelling.
"Okay," I said softly. "I'm right here."
We walked past the group.
A few people looked.
One or two whispered.
But nothing harsh. Nothing cruel.
Just curiosity.
And something beautiful happened.
He didn't shrink.
He didn't drop his gaze to the ground.
He walked beside me, staying close, sparkles flickering faint lavender but steady.
One girl even gave him a small smile.
And he…
he returned it.
Barely.
Just a faint curve of his lips.
But enough.
The girl's eyes widened in surprise — then she waved.
He blinked at her like he wasn't sure what to do.
I whispered, "You can wave back."
His sparkles pulsed pink. Then, shyly, he lifted his hand in a tiny half-wave.
The girl beamed.
And he looked — stunned.
Almost disbelieving.
After we passed, he wrote quickly:
"Why would she wave?"
"Because you waved first," I said.
He stared at my answer, sparkles glowing with a soft, uncertain gold.
---
A Quiet Moment Under the Maple Tree
As we reached the street where our paths split, he paused under a tall maple tree whose leaves were turning red. The afternoon sun filtered through the branches, casting warm orange light over his hair.
He looked…
almost unreal.
Like a sketch drawn softly with watercolor.
His sparkles glowed gently — rose gold, the warmest I had ever seen.
He opened his notebook again, writing slowly:
"Things are different now."
I stepped closer, curious. "Different good or different bad?"
He hesitated.
Then:
"Different scary. But good scary."
My breath caught.
He continued writing, as if afraid he'd stop if he looked up:
"People talk to me now. They… look at me. Not like a ghost. Not like I'm strange. More like… I exist."
He swallowed.
Then wrote the softest line:
"You made that happen."
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "You did. I'm just… walking with you."
His sparkles expanded—soft light drifting outward like warm mist.
He wrote:
"It feels easier when you're next to me."
And then, after a pause…
"A little less lonely."
My heart tightened so hard it almost hurt.
Without thinking, I reached out and brushed a stray leaf from his shoulder.
He froze.
Utterly still.
His sparkles responded instantly — flaring in gold and pink like startled starlight. His breath hitched, and he glanced at my hand as if it were something too powerful.
"S-Sorry," I stammered. "There was a leaf—"
He shook his head quickly, almost panicked.
Then wrote:
"It's okay. I just… didn't expect it."
His hands trembled just slightly.
Not fear.
But something softer.
Something more dangerous.
Something like…
hope.
---
The Soft Fear of Attachment
A breeze swept through the branches, sending red leaves fluttering around us. He watched one land near his foot, then wrote:
"If people start talking to me… will you still stay?"
The question hit deeper than I expected.
I stared at the page.
At the unsure tilt of his handwriting.
At the way he held his breath.
At his sparkles dimming in fear — fading into pale silver.
I stepped in front of him so he had to meet my eyes.
"Haejun," I said gently, "I'm not here because no one else talks to you. I'm here because I want to be."
He blinked.
His sparkles froze mid-flicker.
I continued, softer:
"No matter how many people start talking to you… no matter how much you change… I'll still be here."
His lips parted — just slightly.
His sparkles burst into warm gold again — flooding around him like dawn breaking.
He reached for his notebook slowly, hands shaking.
Then wrote:
"Why?"
I felt heat rise to my cheeks.
Because of the way you look at the world.
Because you're gentle even when it hurts.
Because you glow even when you're scared.
Because you're… you.
But instead, I whispered:
"Because you matter to me."
The silence that followed was thick — heavy, warm, charged.
His sparkles shimmered in ripples.
His breath trembled.
He lifted his hand slowly…
as if wanting to touch my sleeve…
But stopped halfway.
Then lowered it again.
Still too shy.
Still too careful.
But the intention was there.
And I felt it.
---
A Small Step Forward
He wrote one last line:
"Can we… walk together again tomorrow?"
I smiled.
"Every day," I said. "As long as you want."
His sparkles bloomed into pure gold — the brightest I'd ever seen — soft, warm, breathtaking.
And when we finally parted ways, he looked back twice.
Once after the first few steps.
And again before turning the corner.
Each time, his sparkles flickered with shy pink light, like his heart couldn't hide even if he wanted to.