May 12 “First Kiss”

Dear Diary,

I kissed him tonight.

Or maybe he kissed me.

I don't know who moved first. I don't even remember if there was a moment where I thought, this is it — because when it finally happened, it felt less like a choice and more like something we'd been slowly stepping into for days, maybe weeks.

It didn't explode.

It didn't tremble.

It just… happened.

Soft. Hesitant. Healing.

And now I can't stop replaying it.

Even hours later, I can still feel it — the press of his lips, the weight of his stillness, the silence between us that somehow said more than words ever could.

But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

Let me start from the beginning.

6:12 PM

He texted after class.

Jung-Kyo: "Long Walk tonight?"

I said yes before I could overthink it.

I needed air.

Not because the day had been difficult. It hadn't. But there was something inside me building — a quiet ache I couldn't name. Not sadness. Not fear.

Something else.

Anticipation, maybe.

The kind that sits in your stomach like butterflies with sharp wings.

We met near the train station. He was leaning against the railing, looking out toward the horizon like he could see something I couldn't.

When he saw me, he smiled — small, warm, effortless.

He always does that.

Smiles like he's just happy I showed up.

6:34 PM

We walked without a destination.

Just drifted through streets we'd walked before. Past closed bookstores, late-night cafés, and apartment buildings glowing softly behind lace curtains.

We didn't talk much at first.

The silence between us wasn't empty. It was rich — full of unspoken things. Our hands brushed once. Neither of us moved away.

7:01 PM

At one point, he turned to me and said, "Do you remember the first time we talked?"

I blinked. "Properly?"

He nodded. "Library stairwell. You dropped your notebook, and half your life spilled across the steps."

I laughed. "You picked it up. Read something you weren't supposed to."

"Yeah. A list of songs that make you cry."

"You never told me which one it was."

He looked at me. "The fourth one."

I stopped walking. "You remember the number?"

"I remember everything."

And somehow, that made my chest ache in the softest way.

7:19 PM

The streetlights flicked on one by one as we walked through the quieter side of the neighborhood — that part of town where the noise thins out and everything feels suspended in honey.

We stopped near a bridge.

The water below shimmered under the light.

He turned to me.

Not suddenly.

Just gradually, like he couldn't help it.

"You've been quiet," he said.

I looked up. "So have you."

He nodded. "I've been thinking."

"About?"

He hesitated.

Then: "About how it feels like something's waiting to happen."

My heart stuttered.

He looked away then, like he was afraid of scaring me.

But he didn't need to be.

Because I'd been feeling it too.

The way our hands always almost touch.

The way our eyes linger too long.

The way I feel safer with him than I do with myself sometimes.

It's been building.

Like water behind a dam.

And tonight… it cracked.

7:41 PM

We sat on the stone ledge of the bridge, legs dangling over the edge, shoes nearly brushing the metal rail below.

He said, "You told me once that you're scared of being seen."

I nodded.

"And I've been trying not to look too closely. Trying to give you space."

I looked at him. "You've never made me feel crowded."

He smiled.

That rare, quiet one — the one that reaches his eyes.

"But I think," he added softly, "that if you let me… I'd like to see you. All of you."

Something in me broke open at that.

Not in a painful way.

In the way flowers crack open under sunlight.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

He didn't flinch.

"I know."

"But I want to let you."

He looked at me then.

And Diary…

That look.

It held a thousand unsaid things.

Hope.

Fear.

Want.

Care.

And something softer than love, but deeper than infatuation.

Then — slowly, so slowly — he reached for my hand.

This time, no hesitation.

No almost.

Just skin meeting skin.

And when our fingers laced together…

I stopped breathing.

8:03 PM

We walked again after that.

Still quiet.

Still close.

His hand stayed in mine.

And somehow, that small connection changed everything.

The streetlights blurred slightly.

The air felt warmer.

The world, softer.

8:28 PM

We stopped under an overpass where the light glowed gold and the city noise felt far away.

And that's when it happened.

He turned to me.

Hands still holding mine.

And said, "Can I kiss you?"

Four words.

That's all.

Not I need to. Not I've wanted to.

Just Can I.

I nodded.

And then he leaned in.

Not fast.

Not hungry.

Just there — present, reverent, sure.

Our lips met.

And Diary…

It was everything.

Soft.

Slow.

Like we were memorizing the moment.

Like we'd been waiting for this very second to breathe fully for the first time.

My hands found his jaw.

His fingers rested lightly on my waist.

No rush.

No pressure.

Just us.

In this bubble of light and quiet.

8:41 PM

When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

I felt his breath.

Steady.

Warm.

He whispered, "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

I whispered back, "Me too."

We stood like that for a while.

Not speaking.

Just holding the moment between us.

And something inside me whispered:

This is what it's supposed to feel like.

Not overwhelming.

Not confusing.

Not painful.

Just right.

9:14 PM

He walked me home.

Our fingers laced the entire way.

We didn't talk much after that.

Didn't need to.

When we reached my door, he kissed my forehead — soft and lingering — then stepped back, eyes still on me.

"Sleep well," he said.

"You too."

"Text me?"

"Already planning to."

And then he smiled.

That same smile that undoes me every time.

And walked away.

9:45 PM

I'm in bed now.

Blanket pulled to my chin.

Still tasting that kiss like it's something I'll carry for the rest of my life.

Because it wasn't just a kiss.

It was a turning point.

The moment we stopped almost and became something real.

I don't know where this is going.

I don't know how to protect myself from what this could become.

But I do know one thing:

When he kissed me…

I stopped being afraid.

Of being seen.

Of being wanted.

Of being loved — not for how well I hide, but for how fully I exist.

Tonight wasn't fireworks.

It was sunrise.

And I've never felt more awake.

– Mi-Chan