The classroom buzzed, but Jihoon felt like he was underwater. Laughter echoed distantly. Pens scratched against notebooks. Chairs creaked. But none of it reached him.
He sat in the third row, last seat by the window. His eyes weren't on the board. They were tracing the path of a falling leaf outside — free, yet forgotten.
As he watched it spiral downward, untouched by anyone's notice, his thoughts slipped quietly away from the present.
> "Everyone moves forward… even time itself. But why do I feel like I'm standing still?"
"No one sees how loud it is inside me. All they see is silence."
Someone called his name from the front. He blinked slowly — too late. The teacher had moved on. The world kept moving, and Jihoon, as always, was left behind.
Later that day, his bag felt heavier than usual. Not with books — with something that had no shape, but infinite weight. He walked home slowly, passing a group of classmates who were making plans for the weekend. He wasn't invited. He never was.
As he opened the door to his home, a familiar tension wrapped around his chest — as if the walls themselves braced for war.
His father stood in the hallway, arms crossed. His voice was already raised.
"You failed again, didn't you? Can't even answer a question in class, I bet. What's wrong with you?"
Jihoon didn't reply.
"You think life is going to wait for your emotions to fix themselves? Look at me when I talk to you!"
Jihoon's breath hitched, his hands trembling at his sides. His father stepped closer.
"Why don't you ever speak? Are you dumb, or just lazy?"
That broke something.
His eyes burned, his voice shaking. "Why should I change?!"
His father's words halted.
"I try every damn day! I show up, I keep breathing when I don't want to — isn't that enough for you?!"
Tears streamed down Jihoon's face now, fists clenched at his sides.
"Why should I change, when nobody even knows who I really am? When all you do is shout? When all I want is silence… just silence?"
For the first time in years, the house was quiet.
Jihoon turned away and locked himself in his room. His bag dropped to the floor with a thud. He slid down the wall and stared at nothing.
Later that night, his hands shook as he unlocked his phone. He scrolled to an old message — one he read every time the world became too much.
"Eat well, my Jihoon. The world is harsh, but you must be softer than it."
— Halmeoni.
He pulled the blanket over his head. The room was dark, but not darker than his heart.
> "Everyone wants me to become someone else."
"But I don't even know who I am yet."
"Halmeoni… I'm tired."
His breath slowed, tears soaking into the pillow. Exhausted and hurting, he fell asleep — clutching a pain no one else could see.
In the silence of the night, his dreams began to take shape — not of escape, but of a different world. One where his grandmother was still alive. One where Saheon smiled beside him. One where his family… wasn't broken.
> He didn't know it yet, but this dream would be the only warmth he'd feel for a long time.
And when the morning came, it would slip from his hands — like everything else he once held close.
The End
Next chapter - The dream that lied
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