I always believed makeup was my superpower.

It’s the thing that gave me confidence, the thing that made people finally look at me with something other than disgust.

But lately… someone’s been looking at me like I’m beautiful even without it.

And that someone is you.

I met her a few weeks ago.

At first, she was just the new girl sitting by the window, sketching in a worn-out notebook. Her hair was always a little messy, and she didn’t wear makeup—not even lip balm. I remember thinking, “She’s so brave.” Because to walk around this school without makeup takes guts I didn’t have.

One day, we ended up as partners for art class. I was so nervous.

My hands got all sweaty, and I almost knocked over the paintbrushes trying to greet her.

But she just smiled and said.

"Hi"

I nodded like an idiot and said,

“I’m Ju Kyung. Sorry, I’m kind of clumsy.”

That day, she showed me her sketchbook.

There were drawings of people in cafés, little kids playing, even a few superheroes.

Then I saw a page that made my heart stop.

It was me.

Sitting on the school rooftop, reading my horror manga.

I asked

“Did you draw this?”

She looked away and said,

“Yeah… I just think you look peaceful when you’re reading.”

Since then, I haven’t stopped thinking about her.

She started waiting for me after class. We’d walk together to the convenience store, talk about random things, share banana milk and chips.

Sometimes she’d draw on napkins and give them to me like they were gifts. I kept every single one in my journal.

One evening, she came to my house. I panicked, of course. I didn’t have my makeup on, and I looked like the old Ju Kyung again—the one nobody liked.

But she just stared at me for a long time and whispered,

“You’re beautiful.”

I wanted to cry. Not because she said it, but because I believed it… for the first time.

Now, every time she holds my hand or hugs me from behind, I feel warm and safe.

Like maybe, just maybe, I don’t need makeup to be loved.

Last night, we were lying on the rooftop under the stars.

She was drawing again, and I asked,

“What are you drawing now?”

She smiled and said, “The girl I love.”

I looked at the sketchbook, and there I was—barefaced, hair messy, laughing like an idiot.

And then she kissed me.

It wasn’t fireworks or movie-style slow motion. It was soft. Simple. Honest.

She tasted like strawberry gum and felt like home.

“Do you really love me?”

I asked.

She nodded.

“Even when you’re crying, or when your eyeliner smudges, or when you have kimchi on your chin. I love every version of you.”

Sometimes, I still wake up afraid.

I still reach for my concealer before opening the window.

But then I see her text.

Good morning, my princess. Don’t forget, you’re perfect the way you are.

And for the first time in my life… I think it might be right..