Part 1: When Kindness Looked Back

The winter sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting long, golden streaks across rows of neatly aligned desks. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, undisturbed, save for the occasional flick of notebook pages or the quiet scribble of pens. It was the kind of morning that felt peaceful in a surface-level way—like the calm before something inevitable.

She was the center of that calm.
Sera Kim.

With her hair pulled into a soft ponytail, a signature pink pen in hand, and laughter like windchimes in spring, she was the kind of girl people gravitated toward. Her presence made things lighter. Easier. She was the kind of person who remembered everyone’s birthday, offered tissues before anyone asked, and shared snacks as if she always carried extras just in case someone forgot their lunch.

It wasn’t just popularity—she was genuinely kind. A rare light.

And that light had never truly fallen on him.

Jihoon.

He sat near the back of the class, in the seat closest to the window. Always the same black hoodie. Always the same downcast eyes. Rich—everyone knew that—but not showy. He never raised his hand, never spoke unless called on, and always left school alone. If you passed by him in the hallway, your memory might forget you ever did.

He lived in the margins.

That morning, while Sera was laughing with her friends over a dumb meme someone had shown her, her gaze shifted—without warning, without intention.

To him.

He sat, as always, unmoving, eyes flickering across his book. But there was something in the way he sat that morning—shoulders tight, jaw clenched. Like the world was too loud for him, even in its quietest form.

Sera paused mid-laugh.

She couldn’t explain it. Not even to herself. But something inside her stirred—a kind of soft ache. Not pity. Not curiosity. It was a feeling she’d had as a child when she found an injured bird in her backyard. A pull. A desire to mend.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

She expected him to look away. He didn’t.

She smiled.

Not a big one. Not the kind she gave her friends. Just enough to say “I see you.”

And he—hesitated.

Then, as if some forgotten part of him remembered how, he smiled back.

It was faint. Clumsy. But it was real.

Sera blinked. Something about that small exchange left her unsettled—but not in a bad way. More like she had touched something fragile and unexpected.

From that moment, things changed.

At first, it was little things.

Sera would hold the classroom door a few seconds longer when he was approaching. She’d slide slightly in her chair during group activities so there’d be space beside her. When teams were assigned, she’d suggest him without making it feel like a charity act.

He rarely said more than a sentence at a time.

But he started showing up more.

He sat closer. Stayed a few seconds longer after class. She noticed how he listened—not just to her, but to everyone—as if words were currency, and he was learning how to spend them.

Her friends were confused at first.

“Why him?” Jina asked one day, half-whispering as they walked home together. “I mean… he’s weird.”

Sera shrugged. “He’s quiet. That’s not weird.”

“But he doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Now he does,” Sera replied, smiling gently. “That’s a start.”

She never told anyone about that first smile. It felt like something meant to be kept—delicate and unspeakable.

Weeks passed.

Sera found herself looking for him in places she hadn’t before—in the cafeteria, in the library, outside the school gates. She didn’t think of it as “looking.” Just… noticing.

Sometimes she’d catch him already looking at her.

Their conversations remained brief. But his presence began to anchor her.

She started walking home with him occasionally, their houses vaguely in the same direction. He never offered information about himself. But he listened to hers with a quiet, intense focus that made her feel more heard than she ever had among her friends.

One afternoon, she told him about her plans to study abroad. It wasn’t a dramatic announcement. Just a passing comment, said between laughter as they stood outside the convenience store.

“I got accepted. Korea’s too small for me,” she joked, nudging him playfully.

He didn’t respond right away.

Just stared at the bag of chips in his hand.

“You okay?” she asked, gently.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “That’s… good for you.”

His tone was unreadable.

But something inside her pulled tight.

The last week before her departure came quickly.

Everyone threw her a small farewell celebration in class. Sera smiled for photos, handed out thank-you notes, and pretended her heart wasn’t breaking just a little from leaving everything behind.

She didn’t see much of Jihoon that week. He came to class, left silently, and never approached her.

It hurt more than she expected.

On the final day, as students crowded the school gate, hugging her goodbye, laughing, some crying—Sera’s phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: “Meet me in the classroom. Urgent.”

She stared at the message.

She knew it was him.

Her heart skipped—part hope, part dread. She excused herself from the group and walked back inside, humming softly to herself as she climbed the stairs.

The school was quiet now.

Classrooms dark. Hallways still.

It felt… off.

But she smiled to herself. “Maybe he just wants to say goodbye,” she thought. “Maybe he just couldn’t do it in front of everyone.”

She pushed the classroom door open.

“Jihoon?”

Silence.

She stepped inside.

Still empty.

She laughed softly. “Seriously, are you pranking me?”

She turned to leave—

CRACK.

A sharp blow slammed into the side of her face. Her vision exploded into white. Her knees gave way.

She hit the ground.

Hard.

Her cheek burned. Blood filled her mouth. The taste of iron. Her ears rang. Everything blurred.

“W-why…” she tried to say. “Jihoon…?”

Footsteps.

She tried to crawl, but her limbs were limp. A shadow fell over her.

Another hit.

She screamed. Tried to say “Stop,” but it came out a garbled sob.

She heard his voice—cracked, trembling, full of betrayal and rage.

“Why… why are you leaving me?”

Punch.

“I thought you were different.”

Punch.

“You made me hope.”

Punch.

“YOU SAID I MATTERED.”

She choked out apologies, barely coherent. “Please… sorry… please…”

Her body stopped fighting. Darkness curled around the edges of her vision. The last thing she saw before passing out was his tear-streaked face hovering over her.

Not a monster.

Just a boy who had forgotten how to be human.

To Be Continued in Part 2…