Night feels softer than the car. The car was quiet, but it still moved. Night stays still.
I am in my bed. My blanket is pulled up to my shoulders, and my pillow smells like our laundry soap. The light in the hallway is on, but my door is half closed, so it makes a thin yellow line on the floor.
I watch the line instead of sleeping.
My stuffed rabbit is tucked under my chin. One ear is bent the wrong way. I fix it with my fingers so it lies flat. I don't feel tired yet. My eyes don't hurt. My body doesn't feel heavy. It feels like something is still happening, even though nothing is.
Earlier, my mother kissed my forehead and said, "Sleep well." My father said, "Good night, Yura." They didn't ask me again how it went. That felt nice. They turned off the light and left the door the way I like it—almost closed.
Now the house makes quiet sounds. The refrigerator hums far away. A car passes outside. Someone upstairs shifts in their sleep.
I breathe in.
I breathe out.
My chest still feels warm. Not hot. Just warm, like when you sit in the sun and then step into the shade, but the feeling stays with you.
When I close my eyes, the room comes back. Not all of it. Just parts. The blue tape on the floor. The way the light didn't hurt my eyes. The camera, standing still. I don't see the people clearly. I don't hear their voices.
I remember how my feet felt on the floor. I remember how my voice sounded in my ears. The memory feels close, like it's sitting next to me. I open my eyes again. The yellow line on the floor hasn't moved.
I turn onto my side. My blanket makes a small sound. I hug the rabbit tighter. I think about the camera again. I don't know why it keeps coming back. It didn't smile. It didn't talk.
But it felt like it was paying attention. That thought makes my mouth curve up before I notice.
I touch my cheek. I am smiling. Not a big one. Just a small one.
I think about Park Jiwon. About how she said, You focused well. I like that sentence. It feels solid. Like a block you can stand on. She didn't say I was good. She didn't say I was the best. She said I focused.
That feels like something I can do again.
I roll onto my back. The ceiling looks the same as always. There is a tiny crack near the corner. I've counted it before. It splits into three lines if you look closely. I count them again.
One.
Two.
Three.
I don't feel sleepy. Instead, I feel…ready. I don't know what for. Just ready. My door opens a little more. My mother peeks in. She doesn't come all the way inside.
"Are you still awake?" She whispered.
I nod.
She walks in and sits on the edge of my bed. The mattress dips. That makes everything feel safer. She smooths my hair with her hand.
"You don't have to think about today anymore." She said softly.
"I'm not." I said.
That's true. I'm not thinking about it. I'm just feeling it. She looks at me for a second, like she's deciding something.
"Did you like it?" She asked. I nod again. "Yes."
She smiles. Not the kind she uses for pictures. The kind she uses when she's tired but happy. "That's what matters." She said. She kisses my forehead again and stands up. When she leaves, she pulls the door a little more closed. The yellow line gets thinner.
I turn onto my side again. The feeling stays. It doesn't go away when the room gets darker.
—
The next day comes quickly. I know because light is suddenly everywhere.
My eyes open before my alarm. The ceiling looks brighter. The crack is easier to see. I sit up. For one second, I forget. Then I remember.
Not the words.
Not the people.
Just the room. The camera. The stillness. My chest warms again.
—
At breakfast, my mother pours milk. My father reads something on his phone. The spoon clinks against the bowl. Everything is normal. "Did you sleep well?" My father asked. "Yes." I said. I eat my toast.
It tastes the same. That makes me feel grounded. Like I didn't dream it.
—
At school, my backpack feels heavy. The hallway smells like cleaning soap. My friend Haeun runs up to me. "Did you go yesterday?" She asked. "Yes." I said. "Did you cry?" She asked. "No." I said.
She looks disappointed for a second. "Oh. Junseo cried again." She said. I nod. I don't know what to say to that. We walk to class together.
As my teacher was reading aloud to the class, I drew a small circle in the corner of my workbook. Then another one. Then I stop, because the teacher is looking. I listen.
The assignment makes sense. But my mind keeps drifting back to the blue tape.
At lunch, Haeun talks about a cartoon she watched. I listen. I laugh when she laughs. But part of me feels like I'm standing just a little bit to the side of myself. Like I'm watching and being watched at the same time.
It doesn't scare me. It feels interesting.
—
When school ends, my mother is waiting. She always is. But today, when I see her, I feel something lift inside me. Like a string pulling up gently. We walk home. The air is warm.
She doesn't ask me about school. I don't tell her about my workbook.
That afternoon, Park Jiwon calls. I know because my mother's voice changes when she answers. Not louder. Just clearer. "Yes." She said."I see."
"Thank you." She hangs up. She looks at me. "They'll let us know later." She said. I nod. I already knew that.
That night, after dinner, I sat on the floor with my script. I wasn't told to. I just took it out of my bag. The pages feel thinner now. I read the lines again. They don't feel like instructions anymore.
They feel like something I did. I try saying one line out loud. Quietly. My voice sounds the same.
That makes me smile. My father walks past and pauses. "You practicing?" He asked. "No." I said. He nods like that makes sense. "Okay." He says. He keeps walking.
—
Later, in bed again, the feeling comes back stronger. Not louder. Clearer.
I don't think about whether they liked me.
I don't think about whether they will call.
I think about standing there. About talking. About being listened to. My chest tightens a little, not bad, just full. I hug my rabbit. I press my face into its fur. I smile again. This time, I know why.
I want to do it again. Not someday. Not when I'm bigger. Again. Soon. The thought settles inside me, calm and sure, like it knows where it belongs.