finding our voices

Five months had passed since Shin and I decided to learn Korean. At first, it felt impossible—like trying to climb a mountain with no path. But here we were, actually speaking it.

One morning, as we walked to school together, Shin turned to me with a grin. "Yo, Doon, we can finally speak Korean!"

I laughed, nodding. "Yeah, I can't believe it. We can actually talk to other people now."

Shin pumped his fist in the air. "Perfect! It's gonna be so much fun to finally communicate with everyone."

"Yeah," I agreed, a small smile tugging at my lips. "It's gonna be fun."

At recess, we decided to put our new skills to the test. We spotted a girl sitting by herself under a tree, quietly focused on a small drawing board. Her name was Leana.

I took a deep breath and approached her, trying my best not to mess up. "Hey," I said in Korean.

Leana glanced up at us, her expression soft but guarded. "Hi," she said quietly.

Shin crouched next to her, his curiosity evident. "How are you?" he asked in Korean, his accent still a little rough.

Leana looked back down at her drawing. "I'm okay," she murmured. "I'm drawing. Do you want to draw with me?"

Shin and I exchanged a quick glance before answering together, "Yeah!"

We sat down beside her, watching as she handed us a few crayons and a sheet of paper. As we scribbled awkward shapes and stick figures, Shin turned to her. "Leana," he asked hesitantly in Korean, "do we speak Korean well?"

She paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," she said quietly. "You're doing well."

Her words were simple, but they felt like a victory. Shin and I grinned at each other, silently celebrating.

When lunchtime came around, Shin couldn't resist his usual teasing. "Yo, Doon, let me see your lunch. Let me guess—noodles again?"

I chuckled, opening my lunchbox. "Yeah, noodles. They're my favorite. What about you?"

Shin held up his own lunchbox with a triumphant smile. "Rice cakes and meatballs. Way better than noodles."

We both turned to Leana. "What about you?" I asked.

Leana opened her lunchbox, and Shin and I stared in shock. It looked amazing—neatly arranged sushi rolls, fresh fruit, and colorful side dishes that looked like they belonged in a restaurant.

"Leana, your meal box looks so good!" Shin exclaimed, his eyes wide.

She gave a small smile, her cheeks turning pink. "Thank you," she said softly.

As we ate together, I couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth. In just five months, Shin and I had gone from being completely lost in this new world to making friends and sharing meals. It wasn't just about learning Korean—it was about finding a place where we belonged.