This is something that came to my mind this year. And i hope you like it. A child who does not know who she is. So here it goes.
Most people could answer simple questions like Who am I? Where am I? Where am I going? They might hesitate, but eventually, the words would spill out. For her, though, these questions clawed at the edges of her consciousness like unanswered riddles. She lay in her bed, the air thick with the scent of something faintly metallic. The shadows in the room weren't just shadows—they were alive, stretching toward her, closing in. The world around her had melted into darkness, an endless void that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
And then, the voice came. "Luolo… wake up."
The words weren't loud, but they carried weight, each syllable pressing into her chest like a heavy stone. Luolo? Her heart raced. Who was Luolo? The name didn't fit her, but it clung to her like an old, forgotten memory, just out of reach.
She tried to move, but her limbs felt pinned, heavy as lead. The darkness around her deepened, the voice calling again, sharper this time: "Geum Jan Di, wake up!" Her eyes shot open, and she gasped as light poured into her vision. A rough voice now, gruff and impatient, cut through the lingering haze: "Time to go to school."
School? She blinked, the remnants of the shadowy dream still dancing in her mind. Her thoughts spiraled, disoriented. She could still hear the echo of the first voice—"Luolo"—like a phantom whisper, mingling with the man's gruff tone. The sudden shift in reality jarred her. What a busy bee I've become, she thought bitterly, clutching her blanket tighter. Even my dreams force me to wake up for school. But something was wrong. The pressure in her chest hadn't eased. The sensation of being trapped lingered, clawing at the edges of her reality.
This wasn't a dream.
This was real.
A big, fat, unrelenting reality.
The rain was gentle, a teasing drizzle that wasn't enough to stop her adopted family from pushing her out the door. Mercy wasn't something they believed in—not for her. She adjusted her navy blue blazer, tugging at the hem of her too-short skirt, the uniform clinging to her legs with every step. Before she left, her younger adopted brother slipped her an umbrella, a conspiratorial grin on his face. "Buy me candy later," he whispered.
She didn't answer, just clutched the dotted blue-and-white umbrella tightly as she stepped into the street. The rhythmic pattern of rain against the fabric above her head created a melody: drip... drip... drip. It was soothing at first, but with every step closer to Shinhwa High School, her chest tightened. The sight of the towering gates only deepened the pit in her stomach. The school was her nightmare—a gilded prison where the rich reigned supreme and she was nothing but an outcast. Yet, to her adopted parents, it was a golden opportunity. As chefs for the powerful, they believed their connection to the school meant she should be grateful. If I had a choice, I wouldn't be here, she thought bitterly, gripping the umbrella handle tighter. As she neared the entrance, a commotion erupted. The sleek roar of engines cut through the steady hum of rain. Four luxury sports cars rolled in like predators stalking their territory. Students scrambled in every direction, umbrellas opening like blossoms in a storm as they rushed to shield the kings of the school.
The infamous F4.
Her pulse quickened, but she kept walking, her mind elsewhere, her feet moving unconsciously. She didn't realize she had wandered directly into their path until it was too late.
The air grew still for a moment, then a sharp voice pierced the silence.
"The nerve of that girl!"
Before she could fully grasp the chaos unfolding around her, a sudden, forceful shove jolted her body, propelling her into a disorienting spiral. She stumbled forward, her umbrella slipping from her fingers and tumbling away into the downpour, leaving her exposed to the relentless rain. The world spun like a wild carousel, the slick pavement rushing up to meet her. In that fleeting moment, she anticipated the inevitable impact—the finality that felt like a cruel farewell to this life—but it never came. Instead, strong arms enveloped her, firm yet gentle, pulling her back from the brink. The warmth radiated from him, contrasting against the chilling rain that splattered around them. Time seemed to stretch, distorting her perceptions as she lifted her gaze upward, droplets cascading from her lashes, blurring her vision.
And then, through the watery haze, she recognized him.
The kind face she remembered, illuminated by the morning sun glowing sunlight filtering through the rain, with calm, reassuring eyes that seemed to anchor her at that moment. The familiar silhouette of the man she had crossed paths with just the day before at the art foundation emerged as a beacon of safety amidst the storm.
"Kind sir!" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, nearly drowned out by the rhythmic pattern of rain against the pavement.
Yoon Ji Hoo.
He held her firmly, his hands steadying her by the waist. His touch was gentle but steady like he had pulled her back from the edge of chaos. "Silly girl," he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Be careful." He adjusted her as if she were fragile glass, then deftly turned her around to shield her from the gawking crowd. Her skirt fluttered in the wind, and she caught the amused glances of the other F4 boys. But Ji Hoo's umbrella covered them both, a cocoon of calm in the middle of the chaos. "It seems I need to keep an eye on you so you don't fall," he added, his tone teasing but protective. His hands lingered on her waist a moment longer, warm and steady.
Her heart raced as she pulled away, breaking the spell. She clutched her umbrella again, her fingers trembling as she whispered, "Thank you..."
He said nothing more, but the way he looked at her sent an unspoken promise: I'll be watching over you.
The rain continued to fall, but now, it seemed softer, almost comforting.
Just as she walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the rain-soaked courtyard, a girl rushed to Ji Hoo's side. She held out a delicate silk handkerchief embroidered with intricate floral patterns and a glossy designer umbrella, her intentions unmistakable in the sudden chill of the drizzle.
"Sunbae," she chirped sweetly, her voice dripping with an overtly cheerful tone, tilting her head in an exaggerated way she thought was charming. "You must be all dirty from mingling with commoners. Please, take this."
Ji Hoo's gaze flicked to her for a brief moment, but his expression darkened almost instantly, a shadow crossing his handsome features like a thundercloud. Without a word, he brushed past her with a measured stride, his face set in a mask of quiet disdain. The girl froze, her delicate hand lingering awkwardly in the air, humiliation flushing her cheeks a vibrant shade of crimson.
Ah, the girls of Shinhwa. Always too much. Always vying for attention, putting on a grand performance that felt as layered as the designer outfits they wore. His thoughts momentarily drifted back to the girl from mere moments earlier—the one who had stumbled unexpectedly into his arms. She had struck him as different, ordinary in appearance but possessing an air of intrigue, like a singular wildflower thriving defiantly in a meticulously manicured garden of perfectly trimmed roses. Ji Hoo couldn't shake the echo of her words from his mind.
"I don't know who I am."
He'd heard it before—twice, to be exact.
The first time had been during a visit to his foundation, where he'd encountered her while she was delivering food to those in need. When he had asked for her name, curiosity piqued by her quiet demeanor and the way she avoided eye contact, her reply had been a whisper—a barely audible confession that had clung to him like a ghost. The second instance mirrored the first. She had stood hesitantly in the doorway of the communal kitchen, holding a tray of steaming rice and vibrant vegetables, her eyes distant yet piercing, as if she were trapped in a world that remained forever out of his reach. And once again, when he ventured to ask her name, the same haunting reply echoed in his ears: "I don't know who I am." Those words unsettled him, sparking a mixture of unease and intrigue deep within his core. She was so unlike the others at Shinhwa, where girls lived to flaunt their wealth, status, and relentless ambitions to ascend the social ladder. But her? She carried a profound mystery, heavy enough to weigh her down, rendering her smaller and quieter, yet impossible to overlook.
He wondered, for a fleeting moment, what name she had registered in the school's official records. Did it hold any secrets? Was it the truth she was afraid to confront, or merely another mask she donned to navigate this world steeped in pretense? A fleeting thought flickered through Ji Hoo's mind—perhaps he should consult his best friend, Jun Pyo. But the idea evaporated as swiftly as it had surfaced. He knew all too well that Jun Pyo had already set his sights on her—he had witnessed the way his friend's gaze lingered, smoldering with frustration whenever she turned her back on him.
No, involving Jun Pyo would only complicate matters further.
Instead, Ji Hoo resolved to bide his time. The pool—that serene escape—was where she often sought solace during lunch, listening to the soothing sound of water rippling against the tiles, a stark contrast to the chaos that defined Shinhwa. He'd find her there. And this time, he wouldn't allow her to slip away without unraveling the mystery surrounding her.
Lunch hour came, and Ji Hoo found himself exactly where he thought he'd be—by the pool. The quiet ripples of the water reflected the sunlight streaming in from the glass ceiling above. It was serene, far removed from the bustling noise of Shinhwa High.
And he wasn't mistaken.
She was there, just as he had predicted. She walked with quiet purpose, her expression neutral as she placed her modest lunch box by the edge of the pool. He watched as she glanced around briefly, her eyes skimming over her surroundings before disappearing into the locker room.
This was his moment.
Ji Hoo approached her lunch box, crouching down to examine its contents. A simple meal of rice and vegetables stared back at him, neatly arranged but painfully sparse.
This is her lunch? he thought, his brows furrowing. How could someone at Shinhwa, surrounded by privilege and opulence, survive on such meager food?
Curiosity tugged at him, and before he could stop himself, he reached for her bag. It was a worn, unremarkable thing—so unlike the designer handbags carried by the other girls. He hesitated for a moment, then carefully opened it, his fingers brushing against its contents.
No phone.
He frowned. No wallet, no personal belongings. Nothing but a few essentials: a small notebook, a pen, and a packet of tissues. It was as if she had stripped herself of any identity, any trace of who she really was.
Who are you? the question echoed in his mind again, louder this time.
Before he could dig further, the loud squeak of the locker room door snapped him back to reality.
He froze, his pulse quickening. She was coming back.
Without thinking, Ji Hoo quickly swapped his own lunch box—filled with an assortment of dishes prepared by his personal chef—with hers. He carefully closed her bag and retreated to a shadowed corner of the pool area, out of sight but close enough to watch.
He held his breath as she emerged, her damp hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She approached the poolside, her movements unhurried, and sat down cross-legged next to her lunch box.
Ji Hoo's eyes narrowed, watching every detail, every reaction.
She opened the box, her expression unreadable at first. But then, a flicker of something crossed her face. Surprise. Confusion. Her chopsticks hovered in midair as she stared at the neatly arranged dishes—steamed fish, glazed vegetables, and a perfectly folded egg roll.
She looked around, as if searching for an explanation. Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to call out, but no words came. Instead, she picked up the chopsticks and hesitantly took a bite.
Ji Hoo watched from the shadows, his heart beating faster than he cared to admit. I'll start here, he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
But the question remained: Why does someone so ordinary feel so extraordinary?
Someone switched my food? she wondered, her gaze darting around the empty pool area. Her fingers hesitated over the unfamiliar meal.
Cautiously, she picked up a piece of the fish with her chopsticks and took a small bite. Her eyes widened in delight, the flavors bursting in her mouth. Wow! she nearly exclaimed aloud. It's yummy! A small smile crept onto her lips as she took another bite, savoring the perfectly cooked fish. For a moment, the world around her faded, replaced by the simple joy of the meal. But then—out of the corner of her eye—she thought she saw something. Strands of golden hair peeking out from behind a column. She froze, her chopsticks suspended mid-air. Slowly, she turned her head, but there was nothing there.
I must be imagining things, she thought, shaking it off as she took another bite. But this time, she wasn't imagining it.
He stepped into view.
It's him… her thoughts stuttered. Kind sir.
Ji Hoo walked toward her with his usual quiet confidence. His white jeans and fitted coat clung to him perfectly, exuding an effortless elegance that made her feel even more out of place. Her heart thudded in her chest as he stopped a few feet away, her humble lunch box in his hand. Without a word, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the pool beside her, his legs dangling over the water.
"Is it yummy?" he asked, his voice soft yet teasing.
Her chopsticks nearly slipped from her hand. What? she thought, startled. Does he… enjoy reading my mind? This wasn't the first time she'd felt like he could see straight into her thoughts, peeling back her walls with that calm, knowing gaze of his.
"You're thinking out loud," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That's why I'm able to read your mind."
Her mouth opened, ready to argue, but the words got stuck somewhere between her throat and her disbelief. How did he always manage to disarm her so easily? She looked down at the lunch box, then back at him. "You… switched my food, didn't you?"
Ji Hoo leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "It didn't seem like you were planning to eat properly. So, yes."
She blinked, unsure whether to feel offended or grateful. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a quiet insistence, as though he wasn't going to apologize for his actions. "You didn't have to…" she murmured, her voice trailing off.
"You didn't have to accept it," he countered, his tone gentle but firm.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the sound of the water lapping at the edge of the pool filling the space between them. She lowered her gaze to the meal again, her mind a tangle of questions she couldn't bring herself to ask.
"You intrigue me," Ji Hoo said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Her head shot up, her eyes meeting his. "I—what?"
"You," he repeated, leaning forward slightly. "You intrigue me."
Her cheeks flushed under his gaze, and for the first time, she felt truly seen—like he wasn't just looking at her but through her, trying to unravel the pieces of a puzzle only he seemed to care about solving. "You don't even know my name," she whispered, almost defensively.
"Maybe you'll tell me this time." His voice was soft, patient, but there was an unmistakable curiosity in it.
She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the lunch box. Then, in the smallest voice, she replied:
"I don't know who I am."
Ji Hoo's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Understanding? Sympathy? She couldn't tell. "Then I guess," he said, leaning back with a faint smile, "I'll just have to keep asking."
Ji Hoo leaned forward slightly, his gaze soft but probing. "Who are your parents?" he asked, his voice calm yet laced with curiosity.
The question struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her expression changed instantly, the warmth she had shown moments ago vanishing like a puff of smoke. Her grip tightened on the lunch box, her knuckles turning white as her eyes darted away from his.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
Then, without a word, she covered the meal he had given her, carefully placing it on his lap. Her movements were deliberate, almost robotic, as though she were trying to mask her emotions with precision. Rising to her feet, she bowed stiffly. "Thank you for the food," she said, her voice cold, distant—nothing like the girl who had smiled moments earlier while tasting the fish.
Before he could respond, she picked up her own modest lunch box and turned on her heel, walking briskly away.
No, not walking. Rushing.
Running.
Ji Hoo watched her go, the sound of her hurried footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet pool area. For a moment, he sat there in stunned silence, staring at the untouched food she had left behind. Then, almost in disbelief, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Huh," he muttered to himself, leaning back against the cool tiles of the pool's edge.
She was running away from him.
And yet, he didn't feel frustrated or offended. If anything, he felt intrigued—more than he had been before. The walls she had so carefully built around herself were higher and thicker than he'd realized. Ji Hoo's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "I guess I'll just have to climb them," he murmured under his breath, watching the spot where she had disappeared.
The rain had stopped, but the ripples on the pool's surface remained, mirroring the thoughts swirling in his mind. Who are you, really?
The girl had left more questions than answers, and Ji Hoo knew one thing for sure—this wasn't the last time their paths would cross.
"Take this phone and call me," Gu Jun Pyo demanded, his tall frame towering over her as he cornered her against the stone wall at the edge of the school grounds. The polished Samsung fold gleamed in his outstretched hand like a trophy he thought she'd be desperate to win.
"Call you?" she repeated, her voice tinged with incredulity. Her lips curled upward in a humorless smile, barely holding back a laugh.
This fool is bold, she thought, her mind swirling with bitter amusement. Does he think throwing a phone at me would make me fall at his feet? Doesn't he know I could trap him, use his privilege to crawl out of this miserable life?
The thought lingered for a moment before she dismissed it just as quickly. No. I'm not like that. My body isn't for sale. My dignity isn't for sale. I'd rather die than enter his shallow world.
Jun Pyo's brows furrowed as her silence stretched, her amusement only fueling his frustration. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded, his voice sharp and impatient. "Don't you know how many girls would die to have my favor?"
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze cool and unwavering. "I am not 'the many girls,'" she said evenly, each word like a dagger aimed at his pride. "I might be poor, but I would never sell my dignity to a rich brat who hasn't achieved a single thing in his life. Someone who relies on his inheritance isn't my type."
Her words hung in the air like thunder before a storm, cutting through the ego that Jun Pyo wore like armor.
She turned her back to him, her steps deliberate, but before she could walk away, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The force of his grip made her wince as pain shot through her fragile hand.
"Who do you think you are?" he hissed, his voice low but dangerous. "Some kind of princess?"
She whipped around, her eyes blazing. "Even princesses have self-respect," she snapped, her voice as sharp as broken glass. "And don't think you can change who I am by waving a smartphone in my face. You can't buy me, Gu Jun Pyo."
With a sudden burst of strength, she wrenched her hand free from his grip. Without hesitation, she grabbed the expensive Samsung fold from his hand, the polished device now a symbol of his arrogance.
Before Jun Pyo could react, she hurled the phone against the nearby wall. It shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the ground like broken shards of his ego.
Her voice was steady, unwavering, as she muttered, "Respect yourself."
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Jun Pyo stood frozen, staring at the broken remains of the phone, his shock evident. No one—no one—had ever dared to humiliate him like this.
But she didn't wait for his response. She walked away without looking back, her head held high, her steps unhurried, leaving him standing there, stunned and speechless.
The pieces of the shattered phone glittered under the sunlight, a stark reminder that for the first time, Gu Jun Pyo's wealth and power hadn't been enough.
It didn't take long for her to find a quiet bench tucked away from the noise of the school grounds. Exhaustion weighed on her body, and as soon as she sat down, her head tilted back, her eyelids fluttering closed.
The dreams came quickly, pulling her into the same swirling questions that haunted her. Who am I? Where am I? Where am I going? The questions circled like a relentless storm in her mind, leaving her adrift in their unanswered pull.
Why is it so hard to tell people my name? she wondered. What name could I even share?
Memories stirred in her subconscious, fragments of a time she wished she could forget. She saw her adopted mother's face, stern and cold, her words sharp like a blade. Never say your name again! she had screamed, her fury palpable.
Then came the fire—searing, unbearable. Her mouth burned, her tongue swollen from punishment she hadn't deserved.
"Omma… please don't," she whimpered in her dream, her voice cracking as the coldness of the memory seeped into her present. Her hands and feet felt icy, her teeth chattering as if she were standing barefoot in the snow. The chill clawed at her, dragging her deeper into the past.
She stirred on the bench, curling in on herself as her lips parted again. "It's cold…" she whimpered, her voice barely audible.
And then—warmth.
A comforting heat spread over her, chasing away the biting cold. It wasn't the suffocating warmth of fire but something gentle, something safe. The faint scent of citrus and Caribbean breezes enveloped her, soothing and grounding.
Her breathing steadied as the softness of something rested over her head, shielding her from the world.
She didn't open her eyes, but in the haze of her half-dream, she felt it. The warmth wasn't just around her—it was beneath her.
Her head rested against something solid yet soft, steady yet calming.
It was a lap.
Yoon Ji Hoo's lap.
The warmth of his coat was draped over her small, shivering body, tucking her in like a protective barrier against the world.
Ji Hoo sat quietly, his fingers brushing stray strands of hair away from her face. His gaze softened as he looked down at her. The faint furrow of her brow, the way her lips trembled even in her sleep—it stirred something deep within him.
What are you hiding? he wondered silently. What kind of pain makes you hold your name back like it's a secret too dangerous to share?
He didn't say a word, letting her rest. His presence was steady, like an anchor in her storm.
Her murmurs faded into silence, her body relaxing as if it finally recognized she was safe, even if just for a moment. Ji Hoo remained still, watching her, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.
He didn't know why he cared so much about this girl who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. But one thing was clear: he wasn't going anywhere until she woke up.