The waiting room is colder than I expected.
Not cold like winter. Cold like the floor at school when you sit down for too long. The air feels smooth and still, like it has been cleaned.
The door closes behind us with a soft click. I hear it even though no one else reacts.
The room is not very big. There are chairs lined up against the wall, all the same color, all the same size. A table sits in the middle with magazines stacked neatly. The covers are shiny. People on them are smiling very hard.
I sit down next to my mother. My feet do not reach the floor. They swing once, then stop. I look around. There are other children. I notice them the way I notice things on stage—without staring too long, but without missing anything.
A girl sits two chairs away from me.
She has long hair pulled tight into a ponytail.
She keeps smoothing it down with her hand, even though it is already smooth. Her mother whispers something to her. The girl nods but does not look up.
A boy sits across the room. He is older than me. I think maybe seven. Or eight. He wears sneakers that light up when he moves his feet. He taps his heel against the chair leg, again and again, very fast.
Another child is standing near the wall, facing it.
His father crouches beside him and points at something on a paper. The boy nods slowly, like he is trying to remember something important.
Everyone is quiet.
Not silent.
Just careful.
I sit up straighter. I smooth my dress over my knees, the way my mother taught me. Park Jiwon sits a little away from us, closer to the door. She does not talk. She watches. I feel better knowing where she is.
—
A woman comes out of another door and calls a name. Not mine. The girl with the tight ponytail stands up. Her mother fixes her collar. They walk out together.
The door closes again.
The room breathes in. The boy with the light-up shoes kicks his feet harder. I watch him. He looks nervous. I think about what nervous feels like. My stomach feels normal.
My hands feel warm.
My chest feels steady.
I decide I am not nervous. I am waiting. Waiting feels different.
Time moves strangely in the waiting room. It does not feel fast or slow. It feels like it is walking carefully. I pick up a magazine and flip through it. The pages make a soft sound. I don't really look at the pictures. I just like the feeling of turning pages.
Someone coughs.
Someone whispers.
Someone's phone buzzes and stops quickly.
I hear footsteps behind the door. The girl with the ponytail comes back out. Her face looks the same. Not happy. Not sad. Just finished. She does not look at anyone as she leaves. I wonder what she did in there.
I wonder if she liked it. I put the magazine back on the table, making sure it lines up with the others. That feels important.
"Han Yura."
My name. It sounds different in this room. It sounds clear. I stand up right away. My mother stands too. My father follows. Park Jiwon meets us halfway to the door. "You're doing well." She said quietly.
I nod.
"I know." I said.
She smiles, just a little.
But we don't go in yet. The woman looks at a paper and then at me again. "Actually, you can wait just a moment." She said. She looks behind her. "There's one more before you. I nod again.
"That's okay." I said. She seems surprised by that.
We step back into the waiting room. I sit down again. This time, the chair feels different. Not colder. Just more real.
That is when I notice him. He is sitting two chairs away from me. I am not sure when he came in. I did not hear the door. He is about my height, maybe a little taller. His hair is cut short, but not neatly like mine. It sticks up in places, like he ran his hands through it too many times.
He is wearing a simple shirt and jeans. Nothing shiny. Nothing loud.
He is sitting very straight. His hands are folded in his lap. He looks forward, not at his parents, not at the door, not at the floor. At nothing. That makes me look at him longer.
He feels quiet.
Not shy.
Just…contained.
He turns his head. Our eyes meet. I do not look away. Neither does he. His eyes are dark and steady. Not curious. Not scared. Just watching. After a moment, he blinks. Then he smiles. It is a small smile, like he is testing it.
"Hi." He said. His voice is calm. Not loud. Not rushed. "Hi." I said. "What's your name?" He asked. "Yura. Han Yura." I said. "I'm Junseo. Lee Junseo." He said. I repeat it in my head.
Junseo.
I like how it sounds next to my name.
"How old are you?" He asked. "Six." I said. "Me too." He said. That makes me feel closer to him right away. "Is this your first time?" He asked. "Yes." I said. He nods. "Mine too." We sit there for a moment.
Not awkward.
Just quiet.
I like that.
His mother sits on the other side of him. She is watching us carefully, but she does not interrupt. My parents do the same. The room feels balanced.
"Are you scared?" Junseo asked. I think about it. "No. Are you?" I asked. He shakes his head. "No. But I practiced a lot." He said. "What did you practice?" I asked. "Crying." He said. I blink. "Crying?"
"Yes. My dad said I might have to cry." He said.
I think about crying.
I don't feel like crying right now.
"That's okay." I said. He tilts his head. "What if you don't cry?" He asked. I shrug. "Then I won't." I said. He looks at me for a long second. Then he laughs.
Not loud.
Just a quick sound. "You're funny." He said. "I didn't mean to be." I said. "That's better." He said. I smile. The door opens again. Another name is called. Not ours. Junseo watches the boy walk in.
I watch Junseo watching.
He does not fidget.
He does not sigh.
He does not whisper to his parents.
He just waits. I like that about him. I think we are the same kind of waiting. "Do you like it?" He asked suddenly. "Like what?" I asked. "People watching." He said. I don't hesitate. "Yes." I said. He nods.
"Me too."
We sit in that for a moment. It feels like saying something important without saying much at all.
"Lee Junseo."
His name. He stands up right away. His mother fixes his shirt. His father pats his shoulder. Junseo looks at me. "I'll see you later." He said. "Okay." I said. He walks toward the door. Just before he goes in, he turns back.
"If I cry. I'll do it well." He said seriously. I smile. "I think you will." I said. The door closes.
Now I am alone again. Not really alone. But separate. I feel the room shift. Like it is my turn to be watched. I don't feel scared. I feel awake. I notice everything. The way my mother's hand rests on her bag.
The way my father's shoe taps once, then stops.
The way Park Jiwon looks at the door, then at me, then back again.
I breathe in.
I breathe out.
"Han Yura."
My name again. This time, it is for real. I stand. My feet feel light. I walk to the door. Before I go in, I look back once. My parents are watching me. Their faces are calm. Proud, but quiet. Park Jiwon gives me a small nod.
I turn back to the door. I step inside.
The room inside is smaller than the waiting room. It feels warmer. There are three adults again. They smile when they see me. I stand on the blue tape. It feels familiar. I listen.
I do what they ask.
I don't think about Junseo.
I don't think about crying. I just do what feels right. When it is over, they thank me. I bow again. I leave.
Back in the waiting room, Junseo is already there. He is sitting in the same chair. When he sees me, he sits up straighter. "How was it?" He asked. "Good." I said. He nods. "I cried." He said.
"Was it good?" I asked. "Yes. I think so." He said. "That's good." I said. We sit there, side by side. Two chairs. Two children. Waiting together. I don't know what will happen next.
But I know this: I like this room. I like this feeling. I like being here.