Love Before Graduation

The bustle of the classroom had slowed down, as if time itself had stopped. Teru's laughter had disappeared, and only the soft rattle of pens could be heard. All the students were immersed in their notebooks, mechanically writing down the words the teacher told them. The sound that once made my mind settle down now made me feel lost in emptiness, far away.

I looked out of the window. A tree, which was different from the rest, was in front of my eyes. Its branches were bare and lifeless, as if someone had taken away all its treasure. Its state was like a story—standing with a lost hope of colors, as if it was telling the world that yes, I am still here.

Trees are so strong, right?

I thought, looking at that tree with my eyes.

Even if it does not have all the colors of life, it still stands in its place, as if this world cannot break it.

There was a tightening in my chest.

Am I the same as I was before? Can I ever be the whole, strong girl I once was, or am I ready to fall apart at any moment?

The emptiness of last night still lingers in my heart, raw and deep.

"Now, have everyone show me your thoughts and give me written feedback," the teacher's shrill voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Her voice, very stern, silenced everything.

A slight murmur rose in the classroom. Everyone was quietly busy with their work, as if this was a routine.

I nudged Nami, "Did she ask us to write something specific?"

She slid her notebook towards me without saying anything, as if she fully expected me to write what she had written.

I noticed, her handwriting was chaos—letters merging into each other, like a jumbled code.

"What did you write?" I squealed.

She said quietly, "That's what he said."

I nodded, but then let out a soft laugh, "Do you ever pay attention to your handwriting?"

She glared at me and pulled out her notebook. "You were staring out the window like a lost poet, so help yourself now."

I said, smiling, "Yes, yes, you're a nerd."

She scowled at me and put her headphones on. I laughed, but also felt something else—does she ever pay attention or is she lost like me?

Just then there was a soft tap on my back.

I turned around to see Arin standing there, his eyes deep in thought.

"What?" I asked, startled.

She held out his notebook to me, "Take this."

I noticed his handwriting was very clear and crisp, as if he had written each word with great concentration.

"Why?" I asked, not understanding.

"Copy what you missed," he said lightly, as if it were a trivial matter.

"But don't you need the notebook? Don't you have to work?" I asked.

"No, I'm going out," said Arin, his voice sounding as if he had already decided everything.

"Will the teacher let me go? I looked at her, then at the teacher, then at her."

"I don't think it's necessary to ask," he said, smiling, a smirk but a deep silence in his eyes, as if he knew what he was doing.

I had the notebook in my hand, and my fingers touched the edge of its pages. But I could sense something in Arin's eyes, a truth that was hidden from my eyes.

"What?" I asked, looking into his eyes.

"Nothing," he said, smiling, and then turned to walk out of the classroom.

He sneaked out and the teacher didn't find out anything. I laughed a little at his cleverness. He did everything so easily, as if he didn't care about anything.

I think this boy will not be caught under any circumstances,

I said to myself, and then hiding my smile, I opened my notebook and started writing.

I looked at his notebook and turned the pages again. And there it was—in the margin, a blueprint—a dry tree, and below it was written:

"Stairs or spiral?"

Something stirred in my heart, as if Arin had read me from some deep place. Had he really begun to understand me?

I looked out the window, the same dry tree, its lifeless branches standing. As if it was telling me, "Still standing, not broken."

I felt as if that tree had become a symbol of hope like me. And my fingers started holding the pen tightly.