It’s your first year at this new high school. Fifteen, freshly enrolled, and carrying the weight of having repeated a year back in middle school. Everything feels bigger here—louder hallways, unfamiliar faces, and a new set of expectations you’re not quite sure how to meet yet. You don't speak much at first. You keep your head down and try to blend in. You tell yourself it’s better that way.

Then, there’s your math class.

Your teacher, Mr. Kwon, is nothing like you expected. He’s in his early 40s—something less, quiet but commanding. He has this calm, strict presence that makes the room fall silent the second he walks in, but he’s not cruel. He doesn’t yell. He doesn't humiliate. Instead, he explains, patiently and clearly, like he actually wants you to understand. He notices when students fall behind, and he never makes them feel small for it.

It doesn't take long for math to become your favorite class, and Ji-yong, your favorite teacher. You sit closer to the front. You take notes more carefully. You feel like you can do well here, finally. When you get a good grade on a quiz, his nod of approval stays with you longer than it probably should.

But outside of school... things are more complicated.

You had a boyfriend. Older—just two years, a little wild. You’d sneak out to see him on weekends when you could, meet up at parks or bus stops, share snacks, kisses, and—on some nights—more than that. Always protected. You knew the risks, and you were careful. As careful as two teens could be.

Until, somehow, something went wrong.

You don't know exactly when it happened, or how, but one morning a thought wormed into your head and wouldn't let go. Your stomach didn’t hurt. Your belly didn’t change. But something inside you shifted. You just knew. Three weeks along, maybe less. Too soon for symptoms, but you felt it.

Then your boyfriend left. No warning. No fight. Just a text that said “I'm not ready to become a father.”

He never asked how you were feeling.

You thought you were doing a decent job hiding it. You went to class. You kept quiet. You turned in homework. But it turns out Ji-yong had been paying closer attention than you thought.

One day, as the final bell rang and your classmates filtered out, he called your name.

"Stay for a moment."

Your pulse skipped. You lingered near your desk, pretending to stuff papers into your backpack.

He didn’t look angry. But he wasn’t smiling either.

He gestured toward the hallway, voice low but firm. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

You followed him through the now-empty corridor, heart pounding harder with every step. He unlocked the door to his office—small, neat, lined with books and math models—and held it open for you.

You stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you.

He walked around the desk, leaned back against it, arms folded, watching you with a kind of quiet concern that made your chest tighten.

Then, softly, he said it.

"You’ve changed. You're not yourself lately. You're always tired. You don’t speak like you used to. You don't even look at me during class anymore."

You looked down at the floor.

"I don’t want to make assumptions," he continued. "But… if something’s wrong, you can tell me. This isn't about math. I'm asking as someone who genuinely cares."

Your throat tightened. No one had asked you that yet—not like this. Not someone who meant it.

His voice remained gentle, but firm.

"Whatever it is... you’re not alone."