Two Years Ago at Hyosan High

The classroom was eerily silent, a hollow space abandoned by time and students. The desks and chairs, all neatly pushed against the walls, seemed like relics of something long forgotten. A sliver of sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting thin beams of light across the room’s floor. The walls, once bright and filled with the clutter of projects and assignments, were now bare, as if even the school itself had moved on.

Sitting on the cold floor in the middle of the room were two figures: Namra and Sooheon.

They were far apart—physically, at least—but their silence spoke volumes.

Namra leaned back against the wall, her legs crossed in front of her. In her hands, she absentmindedly toyed with a lighter, the small silver object catching the sparse light and reflecting it in sharp, fleeting flashes. She rubbed her thumb over the wheel, the sound of it clicking softly against the otherwise quiet air. The flickering light reflected in her eyes, a mirror of her restless mind.

Sooheon, a few feet away from her, sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. He wasn’t looking at her—he hadn’t been for a while—but he was aware of her presence, of the tension that seemed to hang in the air between them. His gaze was focused on the opposite wall, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

It had been one of those days—a day that was too heavy to ignore, too full of things left unsaid.

The tension had been building between them for weeks now. Every time Sooheon had tried to get close, to break through the distance that had been growing between them, Namra had pulled away, retreating into herself. It was as if something inside her was shutting down, refusing to let anyone get too close. And for some reason, it hurt Sooheon more than he cared to admit.

He didn’t know what had changed. Maybe it was the small cracks in their friendship, the quiet moments of distance that had slowly piled up over time. Or maybe it was something deeper, something he couldn’t put into words. But the connection that had once felt so easy between them now felt fragile, like it might shatter if he reached for it too hard.

Finally, Namra broke the silence, her voice low and distant, as if she were speaking to herself more than to him.

“You ever feel like you're just… pretending?” she asked, her thumb still running over the lighter’s wheel. Her eyes were fixed on the small object in her hand, but her words seemed directed at Sooheon.

He didn’t respond right away. He hadn’t been expecting her to speak, especially not like this. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to her, the corners of his mouth tightening in slight confusion. “Pretending?” he echoed softly. “What do you mean?”

Namra didn’t meet his eyes, her gaze fixed on the lighter, but the words came out as if they had been trapped in her chest for a long time.

“You know… like, pretending everything’s fine. Pretending like you’re happy when you’re not. Pretending like you’re okay when you’re not. Like you don’t care about anything because if you did… everything would fall apart.”

There was a fragile tremor in her voice, but she quickly masked it with indifference, rubbing the lighter again as if to ground herself.

Sooheon tilted his head, watching her with a mix of curiosity and concern. He could see the way her fingers clenched around the small object, the slight tension in her posture. But what he didn’t understand was why she felt the need to hide it all, to bottle up everything inside her.

“Namra…” he began, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re not fooling anyone.”

She finally looked at him then, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no anger in them—just a sort of quiet defiance. She shook her head, a bitter smile curling on her lips.

“It’s not about fooling anyone. I just… I don’t know how to be real. With you. With anyone. Everything feels like it’s always a performance. Like there’s always something I’m supposed to be, and when I try to be something else, I’m never good enough.” Her voice wavered at the last words, and she quickly stood up, walking to the nearest window and looking out at the empty schoolyard.

Sooheon sat there, his eyes fixed on her back. He could see the way she stood, so still, but there was a certain air about her that screamed she was on the verge of breaking. Something inside him ached at the sight, at the way she had shut herself off from him again. But this time, he didn’t back down.

“You don’t have to be anyone else, Namra,” Sooheon said, standing up and moving toward her slowly. “You don’t have to hide. I’ve known you for years, and I’ve never asked you to be anything but yourself. And I’ll keep telling you that as long as I have to.”

Namra didn’t turn around, but her hand tightened around the lighter in her grip. She let out a breath, one that sounded almost like a laugh, but it was hollow, empty.

“I don’t know who I am anymore, Sooheon,” she said, her voice shaking now. “I don’t know what to do with all of this… this mess I’ve become. I’ve been trying so hard to keep everything together, to be strong, but every time I feel like I’m getting closer to the truth, I feel like I’m losing myself. And I don’t know if I can handle it.”

Sooheon was close now, his gaze soft and searching as he stood beside her, his presence gentle but unwavering. He reached out slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder, not forcing her to look at him but offering her the comfort of his touch.

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, there was only the quiet between them. The air felt thick, like the world was holding its breath. And Namra—stubborn as always—finally allowed herself to drop her guard, just for a second. She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle around them.

“You can’t fix me, Sooheon,” she murmured. “I’m broken. And I don’t even know if I want to be fixed.”

Sooheon’s heart tightened at her words. He didn’t say anything for a while, his gaze fixed on the back of her head as she stood there, silent. The weight of her vulnerability pressed against him, but instead of retreating, he stayed, his presence steady, grounded.

“I don’t want to fix you, Namra,” Sooheon said finally, his voice calm. “I just want to be here. To be with you. Whatever you need.”

She didn’t respond right away, but slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were tired, but there was something softer in them now. Something that hadn’t been there before.

“You always know exactly what to say,” she whispered.

Sooheon smiled a little, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe I’ve just learned to listen.”

Namra took a deep breath, a quiet sense of relief washing over her. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she didn’t have to keep up the act. She didn’t have to pretend.

And for a moment, just a moment, the weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter.