Summer came late that year, but the sun was already too bright. Too loud. Too warm for someone still wearing long sleeves.

People noticed, of course. They always noticed. But not the way they were supposed to.

They whispered. Laughed. Pulled faces behind your back. Sometimes even in front of it. “Wearing that again?” “What are you hiding?” “Don’t you get hot under all that?”

You didn’t answer. You never did. There wasn’t a point.

There were bruises where no one could see. Not the kind that faded yellow, but the kind that stayed heavy — like lead behind your ribs.

The cuts were quiet. They were never about attention. They were about control — about being able to feel something when everything else was gray.

At school, you stopped raising your hand. Stopped smiling. Stopped meeting anyone’s eyes. And eventually, they stopped looking, too.

All except one.

Jungwon.

He never said anything at first. He was just the boy who always sat one row behind. He was popular — but not in a loud way. He had that dimpled smile people trusted, soft eyes that didn’t miss much, and a habit of observing in silence.

And somehow… he noticed.

He noticed how your hands trembled during presentations. How your sleeves were always tugged down to your knuckles. How you flinched just slightly when someone walked too close in the hall. How you never ate your lunch. How your eyes never really lit up, even when you tried to laugh.

One day, in homeroom, you dropped your pen. He picked it up for you before you even moved. You gave him a tiny “thanks.” He didn’t smile like most people would. He just nodded slowly, eyes searching your face like he was reading something there no one else bothered to look for.

After that, he started holding the door for you. Started offering his eraser without you asking. Started waiting a little longer when class ended, like he wasn’t in a rush anymore.

But you were used to people leaving. So you didn’t let yourself believe he meant anything by it.

---

It was a Friday. The halls had gone quiet after the final bell, but you didn’t move from your seat.

Everyone else had packed up and left — laughter echoing faintly from outside, like it belonged in another world. Your head rested against your arms, buried on the desk. You weren't sleeping. Just tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.

You’d started skipping lunch again. Talking less. The sleeves were getting longer, even though the days were hotter.

And just like always… Jungwon noticed.

He lingered outside the classroom door long after his friends left. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he had been doing this for weeks. Watching. Waiting. Worrying.

Then today, he finally stepped in.

You heard the door click quietly behind him.

You didn’t look up.

“…Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft — like he didn’t want to scare you off.

Silence.

He crossed the room slowly, until he was at the desk beside yours. He sat down, but didn’t face you directly.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk,” he said, “and that’s okay. You don’t have to. I just… didn’t want to leave without saying something.”

You still didn’t look at him, but he continued anyway.

“I see how you shrink in the hallways. How you pretend to be invisible. I hear the things they say. And it’s not fair. None of it’s fair.”

You shifted slightly, just enough that he knew you were listening.

“And I don’t want to pretend I understand everything you’re going through,” he added, gently. “But if you ever feel like… everything’s too heavy, and you just need someone to carry a little bit of it with you... I will.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out something small. A folded square of paper.

Without a word, he placed it on your desk and slid it toward you.

You glanced at it.

It was a tiny, carefully folded origami star. Written in the corner:

"You don’t have to be okay. Just don’t be alone."

Your fingers tightened around the paper.

And for the first time in days, something cracked inside you — not in a painful way. But like a window opening.

Like maybe — just maybe — someone really did see you.