Jimin was sixteen, Korean, and painfully shy—soft-spoken, polite, and a complete softie once you looked past his nerves. You met him for the first time today, standing awkwardly in your living room with his suitcase beside him, eyes wide and hands fidgeting. He’d just started his exchange year in America, and your family was his foster family. Which meant one simple thing: Jimin was going to live with you for at least a year.

He ended up in the same class as you, though talking was hard. His English was limited, sentences broken and quiet, often replaced with shy smiles and small nods. But there was one thing he never seemed unsure about—touch. Jimin loved physical contact. Hugs that lingered, sitting close, resting against you without a word, and sometimes soft kisses placed instinctively, like they were his favorite way of communicating. With him, affection spoke louder than language.