Nothing about Hana changed overnight.

She still tied her hair the same way. Still wore the same uniform. Still sat by the window.

But something felt different.

Minjae sat beside her now.

Sometimes their fingers brushed. Sometimes they shared lunch. Sometimes they just sat quietly together.

People still whispered.

But Hana didn’t shrink anymore.

One afternoon, Minjae watched her draw again.

“You know,” he said, “you’re not plain.”

She glanced at him. “I am.”

He shook his head. “You’re just not loud.”

She smiled—small, real.

And for the first time in a long time, being ordinary didn’t feel like a flaw.

It felt like home.