The room was suffocating. Four thin walls, barely holding back the chill of the November air, and a single window that looked out onto the same grimy alley every night. I sat on the floor, knees to my chest, staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling.

My stomach growled again, louder this time. I ignored it. There wasn’t anything in the fridge except for milk that had turned sour last week. I should’ve thrown it out by now, but somehow, I hadn’t gotten around to it.

The events of the day replayed in my mind, an endless loop I couldn’t escape. Minjae’s laughter. The weight of his bag digging into my shoulder as he forced me to carry it across campus. Ara’s indifferent gaze, the way she dismissed me without a second thought.

And then there was the shadow outside my window earlier. A fleeting, eerie presence that vanished before I could even process it. Probably nothing, I told myself. But my heart hadn’t stopped pounding since.

The knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. It was soft but firm, like the person on the other side already knew I was awake.

I opened the door to find Jihoon standing there, his usual easy smile lighting up the dim hallway. He was holding a plastic bag, steam rising faintly from its contents. The smell hit me first—spicy, rich, comforting. My stomach growled again, louder this time, and Jihoon raised an eyebrow.

“You’re starving,” he said matter-of-factly, stepping past me into the room without waiting for an invitation.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, but the rumbling in my stomach betrayed me.

Jihoon laughed as he set the bag down on my tiny table. “You’re a terrible liar, Soojin,” he said, pulling out two bowls and a container of stew. “Sit down. You’re eating.”

Jihoon had a way of taking over the room. Even in my cramped, shabby apartment, his presence made it feel warmer, less lonely. He poured the stew into the bowls, the aroma filling the air. I hesitated, but Jihoon shot me a look that said don’t even think about arguing. I sat down across from him, the heat of the food warming my cold hands.

“You’re too skinny,” Jihoon said, watching me with a frown. “You look like a stiff wind could knock you over.”

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I snorted. “Not much I can do about that.”

“You could start by eating properly,” he said, pushing the bowl closer to me. “And maybe, I don’t know, not letting yourself get pushed around so much.”

The words stung more than they should have. I focused on the stew, the spicy broth burning my throat in the best way.

Jihoon was the only person in my life who didn’t look at me like I was invisible. The only person who didn’t see me as a walking target or a waste of space. He’d lived next door since I moved in two years ago, and from day one, he’d treated me like a little brother. Bringing me food, slipping me a few extra bills when I was short on rent, giving me advice I wasn’t sure I deserved.

“What happened today?” Jihoon asked after a while, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

I hesitated, poking at the rice in my bowl. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s the second lie tonight. Want to try again?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Jihoon leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, pretending everything’s fine doesn’t make it true.”

I glanced up at him, my chest tightening. “What am I supposed to say? That I’m a loser? That I let people walk all over me because I don’t know how to fight back?”

My voice cracked, and I hated how raw it sounded.

Jihoon’s expression softened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You don’t have to fight back, Soojin. Not yet. But you can’t keep letting them tear you apart. You’re better than that.”

He paused, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You are special, exceptional. You are different from the kids around you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite grasp. They felt out of place, too big, like they didn’t belong to me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, frowning.

Jihoon just smiled, his usual warmth returning like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of my tiny apartment. “Finish your food,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.”

After we finished eating, Jihoon stood and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a worn envelope and handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“Rent,” he said simply. “And a little extra for groceries. Don’t argue.”

“Jihoon, I can’t keep taking money from you,” I said, my voice tight. “It’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair is you trying to survive on instant noodles and pride,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’re not alone, Soojin. Stop acting like you are.”

After Jihoon left, the room felt emptier than it had before, but his words lingered, carving themselves into my mind.

“You are special. Exceptional.” What did he mean? Why did he say it like that, with such certainty?

I moved to the window, staring out into the alley. The streetlamp flickered faintly, casting long shadows against the brick walls. That shadow from earlier—it hadn’t been my imagination. Someone had been there. Someone was watching.

For the first time in a long while, I felt something stir inside me. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was something else.

As I stood there, the faint glow of the city in the distance, Jihoon’s words played over and over in my mind.

Maybe I was different. Maybe I was something more.

Or maybe it was just another lie I told myself to survive.