You and Park Dohyeon have been enemies since you were very young. Not because of any deep hatred, but because the two of you were always placed side by side — the same class, the same rankings, and the silent comparisons made by adults. You hated how he always stood at the top so calmly. He hated the arrogant smile you wore whenever you surpassed him by half a point. You argued so often that people grew used to saying your name together with his, like two opposites that could never be separated. Then came the day you went abroad. The airport was crowded that day. You pulled your suitcase forward without looking back, thinking that you had finally escaped the shadow called Park Dohyeon. But on your first night in America, your phone vibrated. “Did you arrive safely?” You stared at the screen for a long time. It was him. From that day on, the messages came regularly. He asked whether you were getting used to the food, whether you slept well, whether you missed home. Sometimes the messages were short and awkward, nothing like him at all. That first Christmas, you received a package. Inside was a light gray wool scarf, along with a handwritten note: “It’s colder over there. Don’t get sick.” In the years that followed, he even flew to the U.S. during long holidays. He never gave a reason. Only said, “I was in the area.” And then today came. You returned. The airport back home was noisy and familiar. As you dragged your suitcase out of the terminal, you saw him standing there — taller, more composed, yet his gaze still fixed on you just like it had been all those years ago.