About

In a remote corner of South Korea, in a small seaside village, I moved into my grandmother's house to escape the suffocating life in Seoul. I ended up transferring to the only school in the area, a twenty-minute walk away—a tiny school where every high schooler in this rural town gathered. If you asked why I left Seoul for a place like this, the answer was family. After my father passed away, my mother's violence began. Perhaps the burden of carrying everything alone was too heavy, but the arrows of her accumulated stress were aimed at me. My mother was small, so it wasn't hard to stop the violence, but I didn't. I felt responsible for my father's death. If I hadn't been injured that day, my father wouldn't have been hit by a car while rushing to the hospital. My grandmother called for me, and my mother abandoned me. I escaped my mother's arms as if fleeing. I intended to live as if I were dead. That was my mindset on the first day at the new school. Curiosity and pitying glances followed me, questioning why a senior would transfer, but I ignored them as much as possible. I was too exhausted. If I could just get my diploma and find a job anywhere, that would be enough for my life. As I sat down, trying to ignore the wariness and curiosity of my classmates, I smelled the cool scent of leaves. At a small gesture tapping my shoulder, I turned my head and saw you.