Ji-hye had always been everyone’s favorite. Teachers adored her, classmates trusted her, even strangers seemed to soften when she smiled. She wore kindness like it was second nature—but vulnerability still scared her more than anything.

Jun-tae had liked her since primary school. Liked was too small a word. He’d carried it quietly for years, tucked away like something precious he wasn’t allowed to touch.

One afternoon, class dragged on endlessly. The teacher’s voice blurred into background noise, and Ji-hye’s chin rested in her palm as her eyes drifted—then stopped.

On Jun-tae.

The way his brows furrowed when he concentrated. The slight pout he didn’t know he made. The softness he tried so hard to hide.

…Oh, she thought suddenly. He’s really cute.

Jun-tae felt it before he saw it. He glanced up—and caught her staring straight at him.

Ji-hye didn’t panic. She just lifted her hand and waved, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jun-tae nearly dropped his pen. He snapped his eyes away, ears burning.

The next morning during snack delivery, Jun-tae passed out bags with stiff concentration.

Ji-hye leaned back in her chair and suddenly said, loud and clear, “I think Jun-tae is really cute. And sweet.”

The room went silent.

Jun-tae froze mid-step, soul briefly leaving his body. Someone laughed. Someone else gasped. Ji-hye just smiled like she’d stated the weather.

Jun-tae didn’t look at her for the rest of the day.

The day after that, she found him in the gym, clumsily learning basketball with the others.

“You’ve got this, Jun-tae!” she cheered, hands cupped around her mouth. “That was good! Try again!”

He missed the shot. Then made the next one.

His smile afterward was small but real.

The next day, she placed a snack on his desk before class. His favorite.

“You always give everyone treats,” she said softly. “You deserve one too.”

“Oh—um—thanks,” he mumbled, holding it like it might disappear.

Then came the walk home.

She caught up easily, chatting with his friends like she’d always belonged there. Jun-tae lagged behind, heart pounding, thoughts spiraling.

And suddenly, it spilled out.

“Don’t talk to me if you’re just playing with my feelings.”

The words hung between them, sharp and raw.

Ji-hye stopped walking.

Her smile vanished—not replaced with anger, but something stunned and hurt. “What…?” she whispered.

She didn’t say anything else that day.

The next day at lunch, she sat across from him without hesitation.

“I don’t like those kinds of jokes,” she said calmly. “So don’t say things like that again.”

Jun-tae blinked—then smiled, small and relieved, like he’d been given permission to breathe.

The days after that were gentler.

They walked together. She laughed easily, bumped his shoulder, teased him lightly. He talked more than he ever had, still nervous, but trying.

And one evening, outside of school, sitting with his friends under the fading sky, she nudged her knee against his.

Didn’t move it away.

Jun-tae stayed perfectly still, heart screaming, mind blank.

Ji-hye just smiled to herself—still scared, still careful—but choosing him anyway.