𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞 ||| 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐯 (𝟐)

[ 𝟏𝟓 ]

My footsteps echoed through the empty hallways on the first floor of the building. I glanced at each plaque with the room number next to each door.

"Aha," I thought to myself as I reached room 127.

Yesterday, before I left my guitar class, Dejun handed me a box of oreos. When I thanked and asked him why he got me snacks, Dejun just shrugged and left. It became clear once I opened the box which had a note in it. In the note, Dejun wrote that he wants to meet me after class in room 127.

The note sparked my curiosity. Dejun was a quiet and gentle guy with an air of mystery surrounding him. This secretive meeting suited him perfectly, as if he was a love interest from a romance novel.

Oh, what am I even saying? Dejun loves someone else.

My shoulders slumped, my gaze lowered, and for a moment, I hesitated to open the door knob. Eventually, I walked inside the room. I needed to know why Dejun had called me.

There he was, sitting on one of the wooden desks in the middle of the room. Since all the other desks were cleared out of the way, it looked as if he was on a stage, the audience being the bordering desks against the walls. Dark-colored curtains blocked the sunlight hitting the windows. Except for one window, where the curtain was slightly torn, a hole resting in the middle. The sun rays strongly shone in the summer afternoon, holding a resemblance to a stage spotlight as it directly hit Dejun's silky brown hair.

His beautiful fingers strummed the guitar. The sound filled the room and everything seemed to grow more colorful and vivid.

When Dejun's song finished, he softly placed his palm on his strings and moved the guitar aside. He hopped off the desk and walked over to me, my widened eyes meeting his caramel-brown eyes.

"I'm glad you got my note. How was the song?"

My eyebrows lowered, returning to a relaxed, then excited state as I hugged him.

"I love it!" I exclaimed.

"Thanks. It was for you."

My lips curved upwards; a warm and pleasant feeling grew in my heart.

Dejun pulled out two chairs and we sat down. He glanced at me, then stared off towards the only source of light in the room. Finally, he broke the silence.

"I'm glad you came up to me to ask for help on the first day we met. I'm glad you didn't back away and talk to me when it was raining, even though we didn't know each other at the time. I was happy to spend a lot of time with you, whether it was volunteering or practicing. Life felt much brighter around you and I looked forward to seeing you every week."

Dejun inhaled a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm happy I became friends with you."

"Me too," I said. "I'm really happy we became friends."

"And thanks for the advice. You're right; I should confess to her."

I glanced at the beige tiles and the spots of light that stained them.

"But I won't confess to her. I don't think she feels the same way for me, and even if she does, it won't work out. We'll end up taking different paths in life."

I looked at Dejun with a confused expression.

"It's just gut instinct."

Even if I didn't understand what he said, I nodded and believed he made the right decision for himself. Deep inside, I somewhat agreed with him, and I didn't find words to explain why. It wasn't because I wanted him for myself—I mean I can't have a relationship with him if he likes someone else—but I think he and his crush will be happier in the future by making this decision.

"This summer was fun with you. I learned a lot from you, not only about guitar but about life in general. You have inspired me in many ways. Thank you, Dejun. You made my summer special."

"Thank you too, Mingxia. I feel the same, and I hope the rest of high school goes well for you."

"Same to you. I hope you become a singer like you've always wanted to. I believe in you and I know you have the talent to go on that career path."

Tears had filled up in both of our eyes, neither wanting to let them spill. I excused myself and exited the building. As I stood out in the burning heat of summer, a dark grey car drove in front of the entrance. I sat in the passenger seat next to my mom. She glanced at me, her eyebrows raised with worry.

"Why are you crying, dear? Did someone hurt you?" she asked.

I shook my head and wiped my tears away.

"I'm just a bit sad that I probably won't see Dejun again," I explained.

"It's okay," my mom replied. " People come and go. It's how life works."