TXT One Shots

The boy in the hills|| Choi Soobin

Someone once told me, summer in the countryside is special. It's like another world, he had said. Away from the bustling city and into the deep woods. Starting the morning by feeding the animals, collecting eggs, and milking cows, spending the rest of the days running carefree in the fields, picking fruits off the trees in the orchard. Going for picnics and swimming by the creak up the hill nearby.

This was the life I knew until I was thirteen before I moved into the city for better education. Five years later I was back, desperate to relax under the calming shade of our orchard's apple trees without the stress of my future.

"Whole summer. You can spend a whole summer with your grandma and then you start looking into college, okay?" My mother had said this to me just after I graduated.

She knew I was stressed, and she knew I needed a breath of fresh air, a feel of home. So she let me go back to my comfort place, and relive my childhood before things get hectic.

It's been a week since I was back, and the little town was as exciting as I remembered. Almost nothing had changed, and everyone remembered me. It was like I never left.

The only place I haven't visited yet was his family bakery.

I didn't bother to ask about him too.

He wouldn't remember me, and... it'd be painful to be a stranger to him.

Something I had been doing ever since I came back was visiting the creek up in the hills.

When I was younger, the creek was my hideout, my own secret place just for me. My mother would pack me lunch, and I would head out to hike up the rocky path, towards the sound of trickling water. I would settle in its banks and lower my feet into the frigid water, snacking on my mother's sandwiches, without a single thought in my mind.

One summer day, something peculiar happened by that creek. To this day, I think of it as fate.

I had started noticing dried footprints up the stream during one of my walks. It was close to my own secret camp, and eight year old me wasn't very keen on intruders. I had found candy wrappers too, which confirmed the fact that someone else considered this creek their hideout too.

It was likely the uninvited guest knew of me too, but the two of us kept our distance. 'You don't bother me, I don't bother you', was our silent agreement.

I happened to meet him in an unfortunate way. It was around my ninth birthday, when my mother had sent something special up for my picnic. I did what I did everyday, soak my feet in the cold running water while devouring the fresh brownies my mother had baked. It didn't taste as heavenly as the Choi's bakery across the street, but it was pretty good.

That's when I heard the strangled yell. Startled, and curious, I set my brownie down and follow the sound of the voice. I had gotten good at this sort of thing. I have been navigating my way to the stream with just sounds of the water for years now.

It didn't take me long to find the owner of the voice, but his state worried me. A dark haired boy with the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen was slumped against a tree, holding onto his leg as his face contorted in pain. His knee was bleeding.

"Are you okay?" Nine year old me asked, even if it was quite obvious that he was not okay.

"Tripped on a root and scrapped my knee" The boy explained, wiping off his tears. "Moving it even a inch feels like my leg is being ripped off. How am I going to get home?"

"Oh don't cry." I pet his head, feeling a strong urge to protect him. "I'll help you get home okay? Let's get the wound cleaned first."

The boy thanked me, sniffling. I help him stand up, and have him put an arm around me for support so he didn't need to use his right leg.