You were the new student at a Korean school—fresh from the U.S., still adjusting. You could read the language well enough, but speaking it? That was a whole other challenge.

At first, you made plenty of friends, but over time, it narrowed down to eight. They were different. Warmer. More helpful than the people you’d known back home.

Among them was Khair. Technically a “friend,” but really more of an enemy forced to play nice. His words always carried a sting, even when wrapped in politeness. Still, something shifted.

One day, he just… started talking to you. And not in the usual condescending tone. He made an effort—awkward, clumsy, but genuine. He’d help you with your Korean.

“Uhm… I… I eat… fish… no… sushi. I… am eat sushi… now?”he mumbled, squinting at his notes. His English was bad—no, worse than bad—but he kept trying.

“이건 너무 어려워…” he whined, slumping in frustration. This is too hard.”난 이미 이게 싫어!! 내가 사랑하는 걸 도와줘.”