April 24 "How Can Someone Be So Kind?"

Dear Diary,

I should've known something was wrong when the coffee tasted like cardboard.

And not because it was instant — my body is used to punishing itself with cheap caffeine. But this morning, everything felt off. My chest was heavy. My head was underwater. The world moved like honey around me, slow and thick and too bright at the edges.

I blamed sleep. Or stress. Or hormones. Or literally anything except the truth.

Until I nearly passed out on the stairs.

8:13 AM One second, I was climbing to the second floor of the humanities building, earbuds in, brain halfway lost in thoughts of nothing — and the next, I was gripping the railing with white knuckles, heart racing like I'd run a marathon through molasses.

The hallway spun. I felt heat crawl up my neck and cold sweat drip down my spine. My legs turned into question marks.

A girl I didn't know asked, "Are you okay?"

And that was the final straw.

Because the answer was: No.

I wasn't okay.

Not even close.

8:30 AM Chae-Sun forced me home. Cancelled my classes. Wrapped me in a blanket, shoved a thermometer into my mouth, and gasped dramatically when it beeped.

"Mi-Chan," she said, "you're literally dying."

"101.4 is not dying."

"It is when you forget how to drink water or sleep. You're running on caffeine and trauma."

I didn't argue.

She had to leave for work, though. Promised she'd check on me later. Left a post-it on the fridge:

"Please, for the love of all things caffeinated, REST."

10:12 AM I was alone.

Again.

Wrapped in a blanket on the couch, tissues by my side, tea gone cold, throat on fire.

I tried to nap. I tried to read. I tried not to cry from the sheer frustration of my body failing me at the worst possible time.

And then… a knock at the door.

10:23 AM I shuffled over, dragging my blanket like a sad ghost.

When I opened the door, I almost burst into tears.

It was him.

Jung-Kyo.

Dressed in all black, hair slightly damp from the misty rain, carrying a tote bag and a look that could only be described as soft concern.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked.

I blinked. "How did you even know?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't respond to my text last night. Or this morning. You never go silent this long."

I stared.

"That doesn't mean you need to come over—"

"It does when you look like a haunted popsicle," he said, brushing past me gently and stepping inside like he'd always belonged.

10:36 AM He unpacked the tote: porridge, lemon tea, a small container of sliced pears, a bottle of sports drink, and a tiny stuffed bear with a cold pack taped to its head.

I laughed. Then coughed. Then cried.

Not ugly sobbing — just silent tears that slipped out before I could shove them back inside.

He froze for a second. Then knelt beside the couch, placing the bag on the table.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

And I don't know why, but that simple question broke me.

Because no one ever asks it and means it. Not like he does.

"I'm just tired," I whispered.

He nodded. "Then let me be here. You don't have to do anything. Just exist."

11:14 AM He stayed.

He made me eat. Fed me small spoonfuls when I didn't have the energy. Reheated the porridge without being asked. Cleaned the mess I didn't know I'd made on the coffee table.

He didn't fill the silence. He didn't tell me to cheer up. He didn't offer unsolicited advice.

He just sat there beside me. Quiet. Steady.

At one point, he leaned back in the armchair and opened a book — not out of boredom, but comfort. Like we were just… there. Together. Sharing the same space. Breathing the same quiet.

And Diary, I don't think I've ever felt more seen in my entire life.

12:30 PM I dozed off.

I didn't mean to. One minute I was watching him sip tea, the next, I was waking up with my head on his shoulder, his hoodie smelling like pine and soap and something warm I didn't have words for.

I jolted upright, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry—"

He shook his head. "Don't be."

There was no tension in his body. No awkwardness. He just shifted slightly to hand me a tissue.

"You drooled a little," he said, teasing but gentle.

I groaned. "Please let me evaporate now."

"Not yet. I brought pears."

12:48 PM We sat on the floor after that, backs against the couch. The rain had picked up outside. It tapped the windows like fingers drumming out a lullaby. The world felt hushed. Like it knew something sacred was happening and didn't want to interrupt.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked suddenly.

He looked over. "You say that like it's a crime."

"It kind of feels like one."

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

I didn't answer right away. I picked at the edge of the blanket wrapped around me.

"Because people are usually kind when they want something. Or when they feel guilty. Or when they're trying to fix you."

"And you think I'm trying to fix you?"

"I don't know what you're doing."

He exhaled. Long. Slow.

"I'm just… being here," he said finally. "Because you matter. Not because you're broken. Not because I want anything."

Then, softly:

"Because someone once did that for me. When I didn't think I deserved it."

I turned toward him. "Who?"

"My mom," he said. "When my dad was in the hospital. She took care of everyone but herself. Until she collapsed. And when I asked her why she never told me she was hurting, she said, 'Because no one ever noticed when I did.'"

He looked down.

"I notice."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward.

It was reverent.

Like something invisible had just shifted in the room.

1:10 PM He left a little while later.

But only after making sure I was tucked in again.

He placed the tiny stuffed bear on the pillow beside me like it was a guardian of dreams.

Before he walked out, I asked, "Will you text me when you get home?"

He nodded. "Always."

And then — right before the door closed — he turned and said:

"Mi-Chan?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to be strong for me. You just have to be."

And with that, he was gone.

1:44 PM I'm writing this in bed.

The tea is still warm. The porridge bowl is empty. My fever is lower. The pain in my chest… softer.

I don't cry easily. Not for kind things.

But when he left, I let the tears fall.

Because I don't know how someone can be so kind.

So gentle.

So… present.

And I think I'm starting to understand that he's not going anywhere.

And for once, that doesn't scare me.

It makes me want to stay, too.

– Mi-Chan