August 22nd, 2013.
"Don't be late again, okay?" the class president said, giving me a firm pat on the back.
I let out a laugh. "We'll see. Sports hall, right?"
My voice trailed after him as he walked off, tossing me a casual thumbs up.
I headed back to class to grab my attire, but halfway en route to class, I felt the world dimmed. A sheet of darkness swept across my sight, and a sharp sting cracked against the back of my neck. It felt like tiny bullets aimed straight at my skull.
It's another headache.
The third one today.
It clung to me longer this time, burrowing deep. I made a mental note to stop by a pharmacy on the way home. Anything stronger than the useless peppermint oil in my bag.
I reached for the classroom door, but before my fingers could curl fully around the handle, a sudden gust crashed into me. The corridor wind, or maybe the world itself, pushed me back a step.
"Oh—"
Then I heard it.
A small, timid voice.
Her voice.
You again.
No matter where I went, Xin somehow appeared like a gentle ghost drifting into my path. Soft. Unavoidable. Persistent in ways she didn't seem to understand.
Great.
Exactly what I needed while my skull felt like it was splitting open.
I wasn't the type to hold myself together well. When I feel hurt, I run away. When things got overwhelming, I vanish. But right now, I couldn't. Not with her right here.
I couldn't let Xin see me in pain.
"Annyeong, Jin-ah!" she called out, waving with such earnest brightness it almost made the headache flicker.
I'd tried ignoring her before.
Cold shoulders, curt replies, obvious hints.
But she kept coming back, smiling through every wall I tried to build.
Clingy, persistent.
And maybe—God help me—I liked it.
The pain slowly eased its grip, enough for me to steady myself and look at her properly. A part of me wondered if glaring would send her away for good. But under her wide smile, I spotted the tremor of fear she tried so hard to hide.
And suddenly, glaring felt wrong.
Suddenly, everything felt wrong.
"What do you want," I muttered. The tone was awful, harsh by habit rather than intention. A rhetorical question she didn't deserve.
I brushed past her without waiting for an answer, each step heavier with guilt.
Why did I always do this to her?
Why did it feel like I couldn't stop?
