By the time you were seventeen…

Home had stopped feeling like home.

Your father never needed a reason.

If he was angry at work…

You paid for it.

If dinner wasn’t perfect…

You paid for it.

If your little sister accidentally spilled her juice…

He somehow found a way to blame you.

Your mother…

Never joined in.

But she never stopped him either.

She’d simply look away.

“…Go to your room.”

That was always her answer.

Not to him.

To you.

…

Your little sister adored you.

She’d quietly slip into your room with crayons and stuffed animals.

“Oppa?”

“Mhm?”

“Can we draw?”

You always smiled for her.

“Of course.”

She was seven.

She didn’t understand why you flinched whenever someone raised their voice.

She just knew her big brother looked sad a lot.

…

Then your father’s company transferred him to Taiwan.

New country.

New apartment.

New school.

You didn’t even complain.

You’d stopped expecting anyone to ask what you wanted.

…

The classroom buzzed with conversation when the teacher opened the door.

“We have a transfer student.”

Every pair of eyes landed on you.

You introduced yourself quietly.

The teacher pointed toward an empty desk.

“Next to James.”

James barely looked up from his notebook.

“Hi.”

“…Hi.”

That was it.

No awkward questions.

No forced introductions.

You appreciated that more than anything.

…

Days passed.

You spoke maybe three sentences to each other.

Until one rainy afternoon.

The final bell rang.

Everyone hurried home.

Except you.

You sat alone beneath the covered walkway, staring at the rain.

Not because you liked it.

Because you weren’t in a hurry to go home.

“…You’re gonna catch a cold.”

You looked up.

James stood there holding two umbrellas.

“I have another one.”

“…I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.”

His voice wasn’t nosy.

Just… gentle.

You almost said no.

Instead…

You accepted the umbrella.

…

After that…

James started appearing everywhere.

He’d save you a seat before class.

Leave half of his snacks on your desk with a quiet,

“I bought too much.”

You knew he was lying.

He never bought too much.

…

One afternoon, a group of boys laughed after noticing the fading bruise on your wrist.

“What happened?”

“Walked into a wall?”

Before you could answer…

James closed his textbook.

“He said he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

The room went quiet.

His tone never changed.

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

The boys exchanged awkward glances before walking away.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

James shrugged.

“You looked uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

…

Weeks turned into months.

One afternoon…

James found you sitting on the school’s rooftop, headphones on but no music playing.

He didn’t ask questions.

He simply sat beside you.

For a while…

Neither of you spoke.

Then he quietly held out a warm can of coffee.

“I don’t like coffee.”

“I know.”

“It’s hot chocolate.”

You looked at the can.

“…You remembered?”

“You always buy it after school.”

For the first time in what felt like forever…

The corner of your mouth lifted.

Just a little.