Wendy was six when she learnt that being different is wrong.

She remembers the day – a sunny Tuesday, with the warm glow of the sun bathing the landscape and strips of heat painting on the backs of the children. It was during a numeracy lesson, whereby her teacher was reinforcing the concept of sorting to the class.

“Here’s a basket of buttons,” the teacher told the class as she showed the colourful basket filled with buttons to its brim. “I want you to pick out the buttons that do not look the same as the majority and place them in this brown box.”

Wendy remembers staring at the basket, eyes resting on the buttons of various shapes and colours among the heaps of uniform white buttons.

She remembers observing her peers chucking the buttons into the box. They were so excited to find the buttons that didn’t belong to the basket. “This does not belong here! Throw that in here,” one girl exclaimed to her friend sitting beside her as she tossed the rectangular red button into the box.

And she remembers going home and telling her parents that “different people have different places in the society”. She remembers clearly, what she had learnt that day. Nothing about sorting. Nothing about observing the different attributes of the buttons. Nothing about making comparisons and classifying the buttons into what belongs and what doesn't. But it was all about the bigger picture -- one that others her age would probably never thought of.

She learnt that the richer ones were those white buttons: respected and highly regarded, whereas those who didn’t meet the society’s standard were those buttons tossed into the box: rejected and frowned upon.

It feels strange to have Seulgi standing awkwardly outside her house at 9 in the morning. “Breakfast?” asks the now raven-haired girl, eyes shifting in discomfort. A day ago, Seulgi had decided to dye her hair black again.

“You dyed your hair.”

“Yeah,” Seulgi chuckles, trying to ease herself into the conversation. “The year is ending in a day so I figured it’s time for a change. You know, new year new me.”

An amused smile paints the brunette’s lips. “Come in,” she graciously invites her schoolmate inside and leads the latter to the living room. Her eyes dip to the crumpled brown paper bag in Seulgi’s hand. “Breakfast for two?”

“It isn’t much but y-yeah.” The raven-haired girl begins to stammer and she feels the heat rushing through her. She isn’t sure why she’s feeling so embarrassed in front of her schoolmate. Perhaps it’s the state of the paper bag – crumpled, and definitely unpresentable. Or maybe it is Wendy’s attention on her that is making her feel slightly – very – uncomfortable. “You’re home alone?” She swerves the topic hastily, in order to allow herself some time to feel normal again.

“Yeah. I'm usually home alone.”

Seulgi throws tentative glances at Wendy, unsure of what she ought to say to keep the conversation going. “Should we eat now? I got us hotcakes.”

“Oh,” Wendy gleams, elation evident in her tone. She has been craving for hotcakes for the past few days anyway. “We should.”

Breakfast between the two was a quiet one. Wendy was far too engrossed in savoring her hotcakes that Seulgi didn’t have the heart to break the brunette’s attention. So after their meal, Seulgi asked Wendy if she wanted to go for a walk at the nearby park, to which the brunette willingly agreed.

“So, why did you come to my house and bring me breakfast?”

“Joy-”

“Joy?” Wendy lifts an eyebrow. “What did she tell you this time round?”

“She’s away so she told me to take care of you while she’s gone.”

“That brat,” Wendy says with a scoff. It’s strange how she’s beginning to call her bestfriend what Irene has been calling her sister: brat. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she sighs. While she appreciates Joy’s concern for her, she doesn’t like to be treated as a child who needs to be taken care of. “Why did she ask you to, anyway?” Her eyes stray to the sky, white and blind. A chilly breeze skips over and tousles her hair.

“To redeem myself.”

Wendy gives a mere nod of acknowledgement. “I have an appointment at 11.”

“How are you getting there?”

“By bus.”

“I’ll accompany you there.”

“You don’t have to, Seulgi. I’m can go there on my own.”

“But-”

Wendy cranes her neck to look at Seulgi. “I get that you want to redeem yourself. But I have already forgiven you. Please don’t bother me anymore.”

Seulgi’s forehead creases. “Why not?”

“I’m thankful to you because what you did to me made me a stronger person.” Wendy breathes out a sigh. “But I just want us to remain as acquaintances. There isn’t a reason for my decision. The only takeaway I want from high school is my certificate.” She inhales sharply and ends, “Not you, or anyone else.”

Irene has expected to see a cheerful Wendy walking into the room, instead, the b