His name was Jihoon.

The hallway that afternoon was crowded, filled with footsteps and overlapping laughter. For most people, it was normal. For Jihoon, it was too much.

He walked along the wall, trying to keep his distance. His hand gripped the strap of his bag tightly, his steps steady—one, two, one, two—trying to follow a pattern he could control.

Suddenly, he stopped.

Someone stood in front of him.

“Hey, there he is.”

Two, then three people surrounded him. Their voices were too close.

“Why don’t you answer when someone calls you?”

Jihoon lowered his head. Not because he was afraid, but because he was trying to filter the sounds. There were too many.

His bag was suddenly pulled away.

His body stiffened instantly.

“That’s mine,” he said quietly.

They didn’t give it back. Instead, one of them swung the bag slightly.

“Take it if you can.”

Jihoon’s breathing became uneven.

“That’s mine…” he repeated. “That’s mine. That’s mine.”

His voice was soft, but repetitive. The same. Exactly the same.

“What’s wrong with him? He’s like broken,” one of them mocked.

The bag was pulled farther away.

Jihoon took a step forward, then stopped. His hand lifted slightly, then dropped. As if his body didn’t know how to respond.

“That’s mine. That’s mine. That’s mine. It has to be returned. It has to be returned.”

His words began to change, but they were still repeated. The rhythm grew faster.

The noise in the hallway became louder. Footsteps, voices—everything blended into one.

He covered his ears.

“That’s mine. That’s mine. That’s mine. Too loud. Too loud. Too loud.”

Someone laughed.

But before it continued, a hand suddenly snatched the bag from them.

The movement was quick.

The bag was returned.

Placed right in front of Jihoon.

Without a word.

Jihoon was still repeating softly, “That’s mine… that’s mine…”

His hand moved, gripping the bag tightly as if to make sure it was really back.

A few seconds passed.

Slowly, he lowered his hands from his ears. The noise around him hadn’t changed, but it felt… a little farther away.

He looked at his bag, then adjusted the strap. Once. Twice. Until it felt right.

“That’s mine…” he repeated again, but this time more quietly.

Then, without realizing it, he turned his head.

The girl was already there.

She didn’t say anything. She just stood there.

But her presence was enough.

Jihoon took a deep breath, trying to follow a steadier rhythm.

“It’s back,” he murmured softly.

And for the first time in those past few minutes, the words no longer sounded like panic— but certainty.