When the older brother burst anxiously through the hospital ward's doorway, he spotted his sister lying just a few beds away from the entrance. Her face was pale, a thin trace of dried blood marked her cheek, and a white bandage wrapped around her head. With each hesitant step he took toward her, his heart beat faster — a mix of fear and relief twisting within him.
When he finally reached her side and gently held her hand, he let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Arim…" he called softly.
His sister turned her head slightly and managed a faint smile. "Brother…" she replied in a calm, almost serene tone.
Her small eyes, which always used to sparkle with life, now held no glimmer — only a distant emptiness. What surprised him most was that she wasn't crying. She was utterly calm.
Kneeling beside the bed, he took a damp tissue and carefully wiped the dried blood from her cheek.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head lightly.
"It hurts… but not too much," she whispered.
Moments later, their parents arrived, worry written across their faces. The brother immediately asked about her condition.
"The doctor said all the tests look good," their father replied, his voice easing with relief. "There's no brain injury — just a mild concussion. They put three stitches in her wound. She can be discharged later today."
Then he turned to his son. "Your sister's teacher and the school principal are here. We need to talk with them. Why not take your sister for a little walk?"
The brother nodded quietly. "Alright," he said, wrapping his arm gently around his sister as they stepped out into the cool air beyond the hospital doors.
In the hospital's back garden, the fresh scent of grass mingled with the sunlight sparkling through the leaves. Patients walked slowly beneath the trees, their footsteps producing a soft, faint rustle with each step. Every time the breeze stirred, the whisper of leaves combined with the gentle fragrance of nearby flowers, bringing the serene surroundings to life. This place offered peace not only to the eyes but also to the heart. Thoughts of worry, fear, and expectation among the patients gradually melted away in the quiet, green calm, leaving a sense of clarity and ease.
They strolled slowly under the shade of the trees. Arim let her feet move lazily, slipping her arm gently around her brother's shoulder, resting her cheek softly against him, and closing her eyes. As they walked just a short distance from the hospital entrance, they noticed several people bowing repeatedly to their parents, offering apologies with quiet, respectful gestures.
When Arim woke, a band of sunlight lay across the pillow beside her. The familiar scent of home and the quiet stillness of the room told her she was no longer in the hospital. The clock showed it was already past noon. Her head throbbed dully, yet she pushed herself up and headed for the door.
As she stepped into the hallway and began descending the stairs, she heard her parents talking downstairs. She sat quietly on the steps, listening.
Her mother's muffled sobs filled the room, mingling with the heavy sound of her father's pacing.
"What are we going to do now…" her mother asked, her voice trembling.
"We're not sending her back to school," her father replied, frustration lacing his tone.
"So we'll just keep her here, away from everyone?"
"She came home today with her head stitched — what about tomorrow? What if next time she doesn't come home at all? …Please, tell me" A silence followed, broken only by her mother's faint breaths. Then she asked softly,
"How long… how long will we keep her at home?"
"Until she's ready — until she can protect herself," her father said firmly.
Holding her breath, Arim rose carefully and tiptoed back up the stairs, moving quietly until she reached her room.
The sun had already begun to set, yet the streetlights remained unlit. By dinner time, Arim's mother entered the room, but Arim was still asleep, the blanket pulled high over her head.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her mother gently lifted the cover and stroked her hair.
"My dear, still sleeping? I've made your favorite meal — let's go eat."
Arim said nothing, simply nodded, and took her mother's hand as she followed her downstairs.
The dinner table had never been this quiet. Before, conversations about their day, occasional laughter, and the clatter of cutlery would fill the room. Now, breaking the silence, their father turned to his eldest son and asked.
"How are your studies going?"
"Good," he replied in a few quiet words.
Their father nodded, and this time, without giving his son a chance to respond, he launched into a lecture that lasted several minutes.
"Being in your final year comes with heavy work and challenges. Don't just focus on lessons — take care of your health as well."
Then their father turned to Arim.
"The teacher told me what happened at school. The other children may have acted out because they didn't understand, not because they meant to hurt you or disliked you. They, too, feel very sorry and want to apologize. What happened today was simply an accident born of misunderstanding."
He looked into his daughter's eyes and gently stroked her back. "Arim my dear, just forget about today. Don't carry it in your heart," he said softly.
"It's okay… I understand," Arim replied, not meeting her father's gaze, staring instead at the empty space ahead.
"Arim, look into your father's eyes," he said, his tone gentle. "When I said 'don't carry it in your heart,' I didn't mean for you to hide your feelings or endure it in silence."
"Dad, I understand what you're trying to say. You don't have to worry about me."
The sun had risen again, marking the start of a new day. As always, Arim woke at eight, made her bed, and picked out her clothes from the wardrobe. She went downstairs for breakfast. Her mother was setting the table while her father sat reading the newspaper. Today he wore a light gray cotton shirt with a dark suit and a blue-striped tie. Her brother, seated at the table reading a book, was already dressed neatly in his school uniform. The familiar sight she saw every morning filled her with a comforting sense of calm.
Her mother noticed Arim standing by the stairs and smiled.
"Oh, you're awake! Sit down and wait a bit — breakfast is almost ready."
Arim nodded, a faint smile appearing on her face, and took her seat at the table. Her father placed a bit of side dish over her rice, while her mother smiled at her as if saying, "Eat well, dear." The warmth of family, the quiet joy of a shared meal — it was one of life's simplest blessings.
But the moment shattered when Arim suddenly asked,
"Am I not going to school today?"
The air around the table changed instantly — what had been lively and bright moments ago now felt like a tree losing its leaves in the wind.
Her father straightened his face and said, "You won't be going to school today, or tomorrow. When you're a little older, you can go back to school. Until then, you'll study at home."
Arim smiled softly, unfazed.
"So… that means I'll have a private tutor, right?" she asked.
Her father looked at her carefully, his expression easing.
"Yes," he said with a relieved smile.
Then he continued,
"I'll start looking for one this week. Hopefully, we'll find a teacher by next week."
Arim tilted her head slightly.
"Then what should I do until next week?"
Her father chuckled. "You can do anything you like —whatever you feel like doing. If everyone agrees, maybe we could even go on a little trip."
Turning to his wife and son, he added with a hopeful look, "What do you think, honey? Jona, you'll be graduating soon — we might not have another chance to travel together as a family."
Her mother spoke in an upbeat voice, "I always say 'yes' with a smile."
Everyone at the table turned to look at their son sitting in the corner. Jona nodded and said,
"Yes, that's fine."
Their father smiled with satisfaction. "Alright, then it's settled! If I coordinate with my colleagues at work, we might be able to go on the trip the day after tomorrow. Jona, I'll talk to your teacher today," he said.
Arim, beaming with joy, asked, "How many days will we go?"
Her father smiled and asked everyone, "How about three days and two nights?"
The last time they had gone on a trip together was when Arim was just two years old. Since then, her father had always been busy, buried in work, and they had never found the chance to travel together like this again.
They set out quietly along the road in the morning mist. Jona sat in the back seat with his headphones on, eyes scanning the trees along the roadside. Arim gazed out the window, watching sunlight sparkle through the passing branches. She had gone on trips like this as a child, but she didn't remember feeling anything quite like this.
They spent the day marveling at the scenery along the road, laughing and talking together. In the evening, they set up their tent by the lake and enjoyed dinner. By the water, Jona and Arim skipped stones and played.
The next day, they hiked through the mountains and forest, pausing by a small waterfall for a photo. As the sun set, they gathered around the campfire, watching the flames dance and talking about their memories.
The wind, laughter, and sunlight of the trip remained in their hearts, leaving behind bright, cherished memories.
When the journey ended, everyone returned to their daily routines. Each morning, Father went off to work, and Jona headed to school. I stayed in my room, waiting for my private tutor. I studied for eight hours a day, then went to practice. And so the days passed quietly, each one blending into the next.
When her brother called, "Arim," she flinched slightly and turned her head. A little excitement mixed with a hint of worry stirred inside her as she replied softly, "brother."
"What are you doing under the house?" he asked, sitting down beside her.
She stared at the ground. "Just looking," she said. When he followed her gaze, he saw a few red ants dragging a black ant with each of their legs.
"It's exactly like them, nothing special… only the color is different. Why are they treating it like this?" she thought. 'Why are they looking at me like that?'
After a few moments of silence, her brother spoke, "It's not that it's different or special. It simply doesn't fit into their idea of what's 'normal,' what 'should be."
He gently patted her head. "Don't sit too long, your legs will start hurting," he reminded her, leaving her to her thoughts.
"What are you looking at?" Minho came rushing in through the gate, followed closely by Seohun and Taehyun.
Nau Rin pointed at the ground. "An ant died," she said.
Minho glanced at it and shrugged. "It's just an insect. Nothing to make a fuss about."
Seohun smiled, holding out a small milk carton. "Our school gave these out. There's no need to be sad over just a single ant" he said.
In a soft voice, Arim replied, "I'm not sad. "I'm simply reflecting on the world".
"The world? What does that even mean? You say the weirdest things," Minho asked in surprise.
Nau Rin lifted her head. "You don't need to understand," she said.
"Dummy!" Minho snapped.
"You're the dummy!" Arim shot back sharply.
"Stop arguing, you two are old enough," Taehyun warned.
But Nau Rin and Minho spoke at the same time, "We're only nine or ten! We're still kids!" They glared at each other before looking away, sitting silently.
Taehyun watched them quietly for a moment, then said, "Our mom made a ton of white rice cakes."
Nau Rin spun around, curious. "Really? What kinds did she make?"
"Chocolate and fruit," he answered.
"Then why did she make them? To give to someone?"
"I don't know, I didn't ask."
Suddenly, Nau Rin jumped up. "Let's go! Come on!" she shouted.
Everyone stared at her in surprise. "Where are we going?"
"To eat the white rice cakes!" she said with a bright smile.