Part 9_ Hidden Feelings

Minho was sitting on the couch. His back straight, hands resting in his lap, his eyes wandering between my bookshelf and the few paintings on the wall. But I couldn't take my eyes off him.

It felt like a dream—seeing him here, in my room, on the small couch that had always been just mine.

Excited, I went to my tiny kitchen and put two slices of cake on plates. When I came back and set the plate in front of him, my smile spilled out before I could stop it.

Minho slowly picked up the fork, cut a small piece, and put it in his mouth. But… there was a little bit of cream on the corner of his lips.

I stared. I couldn't look away. Without thinking, I stepped closer, lifted my hand, and with my fingertip, wiped the cream away.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Minho's face turned red. He looked away, stayed quiet, and leaned back until his back touched the couch.

My smile faded. I exhaled slowly and asked,

— "How did you find my house?"

Minho looked up briefly.

— "Your phone didn't have a password… You had ordered food, so I found your address from that."

— "Ah… yeah, that's right," I said softly.

He paused, then muttered,

— "The next day… after you left, I didn't notice. But your phone rang. It was your parents. They were worried because you didn't go to school… I told them you were with me, studying."

A short silence hung between us.

Then he stood up, hands in his pockets.

— "I should go."

As he walked to the door, I called out without thinking,

— "Minho!"

He stopped and turned, a slight frown in his eyes.

— "Hm?"

I took a deep breath. My voice trembled but I said,

— "Can we… be friends?"

Minho looked down, then back at me, calm and a bit surprised.

— "What?"

I smiled.

— "Now that you've told my parents, we can be real friends…"

Minho didn't answer. He just looked away and left.

When the door closed, it felt like something heavy sank inside me.

---

[The next day, at school]

I sat on the bench, chewing my bread. I couldn't stop smiling, remembering Minho's shy look… the cream on his lips… everything.

Yuri sat next to me and grabbed my snack.

— "Why are you so happy?"

I bit my lip, wanting to shout,

— "Minho found my house. He brought me my phone!"

Yuri's eyes went wide. With her mouth full, she said,

— "You two are getting along well…"

---

[After school, art class]

I walked through the entrance, registered, and entered the classroom. My eyes searched for one person… and there he was. Minho, sitting at his desk, head down, pencil moving on the paper.

Without hesitation, I sat beside him. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye but said nothing.

I leaned over his drawing.

— "Shade this part a bit more gray… it'll look better."

He looked at me in surprise.

— "What are you doing here?"

— "What a coincidence! I joined this class too," I said casually.

I leaned closer to his ear and lowered my voice.

— "Your drawings are really beautiful… Can you teach me too?"

He frowned, gently pushing me away.

— "No… go to your own desk."

I smiled playfully.

— "Alright, alright, don't frown…"

I went to my seat, but I could feel his gaze on me.

When I turned back, I saw it—he was staring straight at me. Silent, but with something in his eyes that wasn't indifference.

---

[After class]

I rushed over to him, trying not to laugh too much.

— "Now we're classmates and friends! Let's go to the restaurant?"

Minho paused, looked at me, but his voice was serious.

— "I never said we were friends. My aunt's waiting. I have to go."

He started walking away.

— "That's fine… we'll go whenever you want," I called after him.

For just a moment—only a moment—I saw his face change, like he was unsure. But then he got in the car and left.

I stayed there, with a faint smile still hoping.

---

[A new day in art class]

The teacher asked everyone to paint something beautiful.

I slowly moved my brush across the canvas, the colors flowing gently, carrying not just an image, but my feelings too.

My painting was of Minho—standing by the bus stop, messy hair, and that distant look that was always in my mind. Every shade and every color told a story of confusion and hope.

When the teacher came over, her eyes lit up.

— "Wow, you used the colors so well! Is this you?"

I smiled and looked at the painting, at Minho's figure.

— "No… it's someone who's made my life colorful."

When class ended and everyone left, Minho turned back and stared at my painting, his eyes full of surprise.

From the doorway, I looked at him, smiled, and left—my heart full of excitement.