The next morning began with a surprise.
I arrived at school earlier than usual again, the sky still washed in soft early-morning blue. The courtyard was quiet — dew glistening on the grass, the ginkgo tree rustling lightly in the breeze.
I expected to be alone for at least ten minutes.
But then—
A soft shimmer of pink and gold drifted near the school gates.
My heartbeat picked up.
It was him.
Haejun was early.
Not just early — earlier than me.
He was standing by the ginkgo tree, the faintest puff of white breath leaving his lips in the cool air. His sparkles were gentle, sleepy, almost like dawn-colored mist floating around him.
And he looked…
Quietly happy.
He noticed me after a few seconds, blinking in surprise, then in something softer — something like relief.
His sparkles warmed instantly, blooming into rose-gold light.
I couldn't help smiling. "You beat me here?"
Instead of writing, he signed:
"I wanted to."
Just three slow, careful signs.
But from him, they felt like a whole confession.
---
The Morning Light Softens Him
He waited as I walked over, holding his notebook loosely — not clutching it like a shield, not hugging it tightly.
Just holding it.
Comfortably.
The gold in his sparkles dimmed into a warm pastel, glowing like soft candlelight. He looked at me, and for the first time…
He didn't look away.
Not even once.
"I'm glad you're early," I said, adjusting my bag. "I like this."
His sparkles pulsed.
He opened his notebook and wrote:
"Me too."
Then, hesitantly:
"I woke up early… thinking."
I tilted my head, curious. "About what?"
He chewed his lip, thinking hard. Then he wrote:
"Yesterday."
"Walking home."
"Talking."
"Waving."
His eyes softened.
"You."
The last word was written much smaller.
Almost afraid.
Almost like a whisper.
My heart thumped painfully.
I inhaled softly. "I… thought about you too."
His sparkles flared — soft pink exploding like tiny blossoms.
He looked away then, not from fear, but from sudden shyness.
The cutest kind.
---
Students Arriving, Whispering Softer
As more students began filing into the courtyard, the glow around him dimmed a little from nerves. But something was different today.
He didn't pull away.
Instead, he stepped half a pace closer to me.
Barely noticeable — unless you were looking for it.
And I was.
Students whispered as they passed.
"That glow again…"
"He's glowing brighter today."
"He's always with her now."
Usually, he'd freeze at those comments.
But this time, he simply lowered his gaze, accepting the attention without collapsing under it. His sparkles were quieter, but steady — lavender with hints of warm gold.
Progress.
Soft, fragile progress.
---
We Sit Together Again
When we entered the classroom, he waited for me at our usual desk pair. Someone had left a folded note on my chair. I picked it up, half expecting something childish or nosy.
But it read:
Thank you for helping him.
He seems happier.
Keep sitting with him, okay?
Signed only with:
— A Classmate
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
He watched me read the note, sparkles uncertain.
He wrote:
"Bad?"
"No," I whispered. "Good."
He exhaled.
A full, relieved breath.
Then his sparkles brightened again.
He took out his pencil case, arranging his things neatly, while I folded the note and tucked it safely into my bag. He didn't ask why.
He didn't need to.
---
During Class — The Soft Understanding
Halfway through the lesson, he tapped the corner of my notebook gently.
I turned.
He pointed to something I had written — a date written incorrectly — then held out his eraser.
He was helping me.
I smiled. "Thanks."
He paused, as if computing something quietly inside himself, then wrote:
"You help me.
I can help you too."
Six simple words.
But they filled the space between us like soft light.
---
After Class — He Chooses to Stay
When the bell rang for break, most students ran to the hallway or gathered in chatty clusters. For a moment, I wondered if he'd want to escape somewhere quiet.
But he didn't move.
He stayed in his seat, glancing at me.
"You don't want to go outside?" I asked.
He shook his head.
Then wrote:
"Inside is okay… when you're here."
The warmth that flooded my chest felt almost too much.
"Then let's stay."
His sparkles glowed faintly gold again — he always seemed to glow brighter when he was calmer, safer, closer.
---
A Tiny Step Forward
A few classmates approached our desks cautiously — not crowding, just… curious.
One girl asked softly, "Haejun, can I see your notes? Yours are really neat."
He stiffened at first.
But after a long moment, he nodded and handed over his notebook.
Not trembling.
Not flinching.
Just quiet acceptance.
The girl's face brightened. "Thanks! These are beautiful."
A faint pink shimmer escaped him.
When she left, I lightly touched his arm. "You did really well."
He tapped his notebook nervously.
Then wrote:
"My heart is loud."
I laughed softly. "Is that good or bad?"
He hesitated.
"… Loud good."
---
The Moment That Changes Something
The rest of the morning passed quietly until lunchtime. As we walked together to the cafeteria, he suddenly stopped in the hallway.
I turned back. "What's wrong?"
He shook his head, sparkles flickering — not fear, but something more like anticipation.
He opened his notebook.
Wrote one line.
Then held it out to me slowly.
"Can I… sit closer today?"
I blinked.
My heart skipped.
Then thumped.
Slow.
Hard.
Warm.
"…Closer?" I echoed softly.
He nodded once — not shy this time.
Just honest.
I stepped closer to him without thinking.
"Like this?"
He looked at the distance between us.
Then very subtly… shook his head.
My breath caught.
I took one tiny step more.
We were now close enough that the edges of his warmth brushed against me. His sparkles trembled with pink-gold light, nervous and soft and impossibly gentle.
"Like this?" I whispered.
He didn't move.
Didn't sign.
Didn't write.
He just looked at me, eyes wide and vulnerable.
And then…
He nodded.
A small, trembling nod.
His sparkles shimmered brightly — glowing around us like the softest morning light.