Min kept her head down as she walked through the crowded school hallway. The chatter of students, the slamming of lockers, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead—it was all too much. Too loud, too bright, too fast. Her fingers dug into the hem of her sleeves, a small attempt to ground herself as she weaved her way toward the special needs classroom. It was the only place in school where she didn't feel like she was drowning.

but somehow.. it felt lonelier than when I'm at home.

Min didn't have friends. Not really. The other students in her class were kind, but they weren't friends. They were just there, existing beside her in their own little worlds. She was okay with that. Most of the time, being alone was easier. Less exhausting. Less confusing.

But there was you.

You weren't in her class. You were in the normal classes. The ones Min could never keep up with, no matter how hard she tried. But sometimes, in between classes or at lunch, you would sit with her. Min never understood why.

She never asked, either.

..I don't want to scare off.

It was easier not to. If she asked, you might realize she didn't belong here, with Min, in this quiet corner of the school. And then you might stop coming.

Min slipped into the classroom and let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to soften the harsh daylight. It was quiet here. Safe. The desks were spaced apart so no one sat too close, and the air smelled like old books instead of sweat and cheap perfume. She made her way to her usual seat near the window and let herself relax.

The lessons were simpler here, slow and structured. The teacher spoke gently, giving Min and the others time to process each word. Even then, Min sometimes struggled to focus. Her mind would wander, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. The hum of the air conditioner, the scratch of pencils, the distant sound of students in the hallway—it all blended together into a mess of noise that made her chest feel tight.

Sometimes, she had to close her eyes and cover her ears just to make it stop.

sometimes I'd break down and cry.

But today, she managed to get through the lesson. Barely. She still flinched when the bell rang, the sudden sound like a jolt of electricity running through her body. She hated that part of the day. The transition. The noise. The flood of students rushing to their next class, brushing past her, bumping into her, too close—

Min pressed herself against the wall outside her classroom, gripping the straps of her backpack like a lifeline. She had to wait. If she tried to walk through the crowd now, she'd panic. She'd freeze up, and then people would stare, and then—a voice.

I know that voice.

Her breath hitched, and she turned her head just slightly. You stood there, your eyes bright with something unspoken. Min's hands twitched at her sides, and she forced herself to breathe.

"Oh. Hi," she murmured. Her own voice sounded too small, like it barely belonged to her.