Chapter Text
It's been one year since I started high school in Seoul.
One year since I left my hometown for the first time, urged by my parents to venture out into the world and experience things that I otherwise wouldn't if I stayed in the same country.
One year since I stepped foot into an entirely foreign land, the words "Hello" and "Thank you" being the only ones I could say with confidence in Korean, while stumbling miserably over the rest.
One year since I found out I can stop the world from moving for exactly seven minutes each day.
After giving it some thought, I came to the conclusion that it was pointless to ask why this ability was given to me, and who decided I should have it. So I've gone ahead and treated this information as one of the obvious facts of life: The sky is blue, Earth has seven continents, and the world around me freezes once each day, for seven minutes.
I'd like to believe that my parents raised me to be more or less morally upright, so I've only ever used this ability for trivial things like getting away from the boys in my year who wanted to confess their feelings for me because they thought I was pretty or something, and from the girls in my class who only ever spoke to me so they'd have a morsel or two to gossip about to their friends.
I'd like to say that I was able to make friends in the past year—if only that were true. The language barrier made it difficult, and to a point, exhausting. The only person who's been patient enough to make sincere conversation with me on a daily basis, despite my only reactions being small nods and tight-lipped smiles here and there, is a short, wide-eyed girl named Son Chaeyoung.
Someday, when I know all the words, I promise to let her know how much I appreciate her for trying so hard.
But today, as my mind becomes too spent to catch up with all the Korean tumbling out of her mouth, I feel the need to escape yet again—even from her.
So at that moment, I take a deep breath, tuning out all the sounds around me, and squeeze my eyes shut. Not even a heartbeat later, I'm met with static silence.
I open my eyes and watch Chaeyoung's gaze freeze mid-sparkle, lips parted in a cute, toothy grin. I guess she has a particular fondness for whatever it was she'd been talking to me about.
I stand up and step around a paper airplane stuck in mid-air, taking little glances at the classmates who, judging by their statue-esque positions right then, either used this study period to take naps, chat with friends, play around with their phones, or get some actual studying done.
On most days, I would use my seven minutes to take short walks down the hallway, content with the stillness surrounding me, the only things in motion being myself and my thoughts.
For seven minutes, I don't have to pretend not to hear the way people in my class sometimes gossip about Chou Tzuyu: The second year transfer student from Taiwan who is too closed off for anyone to be friends with, who only keeps the same icy expression on her face every day, who could easily become as popular in school as Kim Dahyun if she would only talk more.
Being the two newer students in the class, with me transferring last year and she this year, I find myself being compared to Kim Dahyun the most.
Kim Dahyun is the most well-liked student in my year, despite being one year older than most of our classmates. The girls in our class affectionately call her "Dahyun unnie", and a crowd always forms around her as soon as the teachers leave the room. She would get several love confessions from male schoolmates, and unlike me, she gives them dazzling smiles, and unlike me, she never runs away.
At this hour, Kim Dahyun is sitting on a bench at the school courtyard, a book in hand. Even from the window I am looking out of from the second floor, her perfect posture, her peculiarly pale skin, and her straight, jet-black hair make her stand out from the cluster of students frozen around her.
My mind drifts to the first time Kim Dahyun introduced herself to our class at the start of the year. I remember feeling a wave of relief wash over me then, certain that this new student would give my classmates something else to pay attention to, to nitpick, and to scrutinize besides me.
And now, almost two months later, she is still being paid attention to, nitpicked and scrutinized behind her back, if the whispers from some classmates which I manage to decipher between classes are any indication.
In a way, I'm both grateful and sorry for her at the same time. I would never tell her that, though.
Despite how good Kim Dahyun is at naturally drawing people toward her, I doubt I would ever gather enough confidence to even say a word to her. Even if I want to.
But maybe, just maybe, in these seven minutes when no one is watching, I can muster the right amount of courage to sit next to her.
Just to see if her ability to draw people in works just as well when she isn't moving.
My mind pulls me back to the present, while my feet lead me right in front of where Kim Dahyun is perched on, unblinking, eyes on her book.
Another obvious fact of life I should probably take note of: Kim Dahyun is a lot more beautiful up close. The way her hair is tucked behind one ear, the way her gaze zeroes in on the part of the page of the book she is on, the way her carefully-glossed pink lips are stretched out thoughtfully in what looks like a permanent smile...
A thought that would never have even crossed my mind if the world was in motion suddenly comes to the forefront: I wonder what Kim Dahyun-ssi's lips feel like?
Maybe it's the certainty that no one would ever see, or perhaps it's the thrill of doing something without knowing when exactly the world would start moving once more (or a combination of both), but at that moment, for some reason I can't quite pinpoint, I am filled with just enough courage to satisfy my curiosity. To do more than just sit next to her.
Still, I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I slowly kneel in front of Kim Dahyun, and with trembling hands, tilt her chin upwards.
As I inch ever closer towards her lips, my eyes closing shut, I fail to notice how there is a breeze behind her that lightly blows some of her hair forward. I also fail to see her gaze widening one whole second before my lips meet hers.
I brush it off as my imagination when I feel a tickle, that suspiciously feels like eyelids fluttering, just below the bags of my eyes.
But then I feel a small, warm hand laying on my cheek another second later, and I get so startled that, with my eyes flying open, I jerk back and land on my butt with a loud thud.
And the last thing I hear is an eerily calm voice saying, "Oh, it's Tzuyu-ssi," before the world starts turning again.