BITTERSWEET (Vsoo)

Jisoo

Sitting next to him felt like stepping into a different world. The air around him was cold, sharp, and still—like the calm before a storm. It was almost as if the warmth had been drained from the classroom the moment I sat down beside him. Not a single word passed his lips. No "hello," no acknowledgment of my presence, nothing. Just silence. And it wasn't the comfortable kind that fills a room between friends. It was thick and heavy, filled with unspoken barriers and invisible walls.

I kept stealing quick, careful glances at him out of the corner of my eye, afraid to seem obvious. His hair was messy, naturally tousled as if he'd just woken up or run his hands through it in frustration. The strands framed his face perfectly, soft yet wild, a stark contrast to the cold expression etched across his sharp features. His eyes—dark, almost too dark—held a strange intensity. It was like looking into a deep ocean where secrets drowned silently, where emotions were hidden behind impenetrable walls. His jaw was tight, clenched so firmly it made me wonder what he was holding back. Anger? Pain? Resentment? Or maybe just exhaustion from pretending.

I wanted to understand. I wanted to reach out, but there was a distance—an invisible line between us that neither of us dared cross. The teacher's voice, talking about the day's lesson, became a faint hum in the background as my mind replayed the moments from just a few minutes ago.

The collision in the hallway.

How unexpectedly we had bumped into each other. The sudden jolt that sent me tumbling down to the hard floor, the sharp sting of impact still fresh in my mind. I had closed my eyes instinctively, expecting a scolding or perhaps a kind hand to help me up. But instead, there was nothing. He just stood there, watching me, not offering a word or a gesture. His face was unreadable—neither apologetic nor indifferent, just cold and distant.

Why hadn't he helped me?

In my old school, someone always helped when a new kid stumbled. Someone always smiled, said sorry, asked if you were okay. But he didn't.

He was different.

I didn't even know his name.

No one had told me. I had no clue who this cold, quiet boy was, sitting silently beside me as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And yet, it felt anything but natural.

I kept wondering what made him this way. Was he always like this? Was this coldness a shield to keep others away? Or was it the way he actually felt inside—guarded, lonely, angry at the world?

I shifted in my seat, trying to keep my movements small, careful not to disturb the fragile bubble of silence surrounding us. The classroom noises around me—the scratching of pencils on paper, whispered conversations, the occasional shuffle of feet—felt distant and muted compared to the loud, racing thoughts inside my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of movement. His eyes glanced sideways toward me for just a brief second—almost like a blink—before they snapped back forward. There was something there, something I couldn't quite place. Was it surprise? Curiosity? Maybe even a flicker of irritation?

I felt a strange pull in my chest, a mix of curiosity and caution. I wanted to break the silence, to say something—anything—to make this moment less awkward, less cold. But the words caught in my throat. I wasn't sure what to say. How do you talk to someone who doesn't want to talk?

So I stayed quiet.

I let the silence stretch between us like an invisible thread, tense and fragile, as if either one of us could pull it too hard and it would snap.

When the bell finally rang, shaking the classroom out of its stillness, he didn't move right away. He stayed seated, quiet and still, like a statue carved from stone.

I packed my things slowly, my heart still pounding. My mind swirled with questions about this boy—the one who had collided into me in the hallway, who had refused to move when I sat next to him, who had filled the room with a silence so loud I could almost hear it.

I didn't know his name.

But somehow, I knew I wouldn't forget him.