Lunch hour.
The courtyard buzzed like a hive of rumors, gossip, and status games. Students lounged beneath designer umbrellas, trays of gourmet food untouched as they talked about parties, cars, and who wore what better.
At the center of it all, seated on the school's marble steps like self-declared royalty, were the "untouchables"—Aiden's supposed inner circle. Three boys, each dressed in the same expensive uniform but customized just enough to stand out. They'd known Aiden since kindergarten, their families tied by legacy, old money, and shared investments.
But Aiden barely knew their last names.
Still, they hovered around him like orbiting satellites, trying to claim his shadow as their own.
"Did you see that thing she was wearing today?" one of them sneered, tossing a grape into his mouth and nodding toward the lone figure at the far end of the courtyard.
Lina.
Sitting by herself, picking at her food. Her uniform looked older, faded. Her shoes were slightly worn at the soles.
"She looks like she rolled out of a donation bin."
"Not even. More like a lost stray someone forgot to put down."
Aiden didn't say a word. He sat a step above them, sipping iced water slowly. Headphones around his neck. His eyes, unfocused, stared off —but he heard every word.
His jaw tensed.
The boys kept laughing.
"She probably thinks someone's gonna rescue her or something," one of them added. "Dream on, charity case."
Then she appeared.
The school's self-proclaimed queen—Sera Hwang.
Flawless makeup, lips painted like roses, hair cascading in perfect dark waves. Rumors had long circulated that she was Aiden's girlfriend. No one had ever confirmed it—not even Aiden—but no one dared ask him either. The silence became permission. And the school had crowned her.
She strode confidently across the courtyard, heels clicking against the tiled path, her group of followers trailing behind her .
Sera stopped in front of Lina .
"Hey," she said sharply.
Lina looked up, startled.
"You're in my place."
Lina blinked. "This isn't—"
"You deaf or just dumb?" Sera leaned closer, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Do I look like someone who shares with strays?"
Gasps. Laughter.
Lina stood slowly, head down, picking up her tray. She didn't say anything. She never did.
"She's not even human, that one," someone muttered.
Aiden's hand gripped the bottle tighter. His knuckles whitened. His eyes flicked toward them—just once.
Then something unusual happened.
A girl from another class—one of Sera's groupies—walked up behind Aiden and lightly touched his shoulder, giggling.
"Aiden~ what are you doing later? We should—"
He paused. His entire body went still, like the cold flick of a blade had passed through him.
He slowly turned his head toward where her fingers had touched.
"Wipe it off."
His voice was quiet, but hard.
The air around them froze.
The girl laughed awkwardly, thinking he was joking. "Huh?"
"I said," Aiden repeated, eyes locked on her, "wipe it off."
Realizing he wasn't kidding, the girl bent down quickly and brushed the spot on his shoulder with trembling fingers.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered before backing away, cheeks burning red.
No one dared laugh.
Sera glanced at him from across the courtyard, her smile faltering.
Aiden didn't look at her. His eyes drifted toward Lina, who was now walking away, her tray still full, her head bowed.
He didn't understand it—this thing in his chest. It wasn't pity. It wasn't sympathy.
It was anger.
The wrong kind.
The kind that doesn't go away easily.
He looked down at his drink, then stood.
Without a word.
And walked.
—
The hallway stretched long and cold, the kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful—just heavy.
Aiden walked it like he always did—hands in pockets, earbuds in, shoulders squared. The beat in his ears pulsed low, but it didn't drown out the sound of a book falling.
He glanced sideways.
Lina.
Again.
She was walking ahead of him, her head down, moving like someone trying not to exist. Her shoulders were slouched, as if carrying weight no one else could see. Her shoes—he noticed—were nearly splitting at the sides, the soles barely hanging on. She still wore the old school uniform, threadbare and a shade too faded, as if she hadn't even noticed the rest of the school had moved on without her.
Then her books slipped from her arms.
A soft thud echoed in the hall as paper scattered across the polished floor.
She knelt quickly, almost too quickly, scrambling to gather them before anyone saw.
Aiden stepped forward, bent to help.
Their hands nearly touched.
But she flinched—hard.
"No," she whispered, barely audible.
No thank you. No eye contact. Just a sharp breath and silence.
She scooped up the last book and walked away, head low, pace quickened. Like she was running from something.
Like she was afraid of him.
Aiden stood there, frozen.
"She didn't want me to help her," he said aloud. Not to anyone—just to himself. His voice sounded strange in the hallway.
He looked back.
A group of students behind him had stopped. Watching. Whispering. Their eyes wide as if he'd done something unthinkable.
Like helping her had made him dirty.
As if kindness was a violation of the rules they'd all silently agreed on.
He met their stares. His face didn't change, but inside, something twisted.
Like guilt.
Like shame.
Like anger with no direction.
He turned his head slowly, headphones falling around his neck, the music now silent.
He should've kept walking. Should've shrugged it off like always.
But he didn't.
For the first time, Aiden Kwon watched someone walk away—not because he didn't care, but because he didn't know how to follow.
—
The clouds had broken open by the time school ended, and rain fell onto the polished asphalt.
Aiden sat in the back of the family car, his cheek resting against his knuckles, eyes half-lidded as the wipers cut rhythmically across the windshield. The inside was warm, almost too warm. His driver waited silently for the signal to leave, but Aiden hadn't said a word yet.
Then he saw her.
Lina.
Walking alone in the storm, head bowed, arms hugging her bag tightly against her chest. No umbrella. No coat. Her thin blouse clung to her skin, soaked through completely. Her shoes—those ruined soles—squelched with every step.
She was limping.
A slight one, but real. Faint enough that others might miss it.
Aiden didn't.
None of the other students were on foot. They had all vanished into warm cars, tinted windows, and drivers who carried their umbrellas for them.
But Lina—she walked alone.
And then it happened.
A white convertible slowed beside her, and from the half-open window, a soda bottle arced through the air and hit her square in the back. It bounced off her shoulder, rolled into the gutter.
A girl's voice shouted from the car, loud, shrill, mocking.
"Try bathing next time, beggar! You're already wet!"
Laughter erupted from the car as it sped off.
Lina didn't react. Not even a twitch. She just kept walking like nothing happened.
Aiden's jaw clenched.
Still, he didn't move. Didn't open the door. Didn't say a word.
He sat there as her figure faded down the sidewalk, swallowed by the rain.
⸻
That night, he couldn't sleep.
Not even with the AC low and the blackout curtains drawn.
He lay in bed, the ceiling above him blurred in the darkness. The sound of the rain tapping against the windows hadn't stopped, but that wasn't what kept him awake.
It was her face.
The emptiness in it.
The bruised patch on her arm he'd seen that morning in class—barely visible under her sleeve, the yellowing edge of an old wound.
The way she limped like she was used to it.
The way she didn't flinch when the bottle hit her—because she expected it.
Aiden rolled over in bed, his chest tight. He didn't know what he felt exactly—pity, maybe. Frustration. Guilt.
But mostly, he felt something unfamiliar.
Restlessness.
He picked up his phone to distract himself, but even the screen felt cold in his hand.
He put it down.
Closed his eyes.
But she was still there.
Walking alone.