Haru had always been able to see the colors swirling around her fingers, ever since she was five.

At first, she thought they were beautiful and amusing, like little silk ribbons. Haru enjoyed watching the beautiful colors flow and dance before her eyes.

“Haru baby, why do you keep looking down at your hands?” Her father asked her at the age of eight. “The colors around my hands are a pretty light blue papa,” Haru smiled and looked up, raising her hands so her father could see for himself. “There’s nothing on or around your hands, Haru. What are you talking about?” He asked, confusion scrunching up his features. Haru retracted her hands to her lap, staring at how the color slowly changed from the light blue to a muddy orange. “The colors. You can see them, can’t you? See, right now it’s orange!” Haru said excitedly again as she stretched her hands straight up in the air above her head. “Haru, there’s nothing there…”

After insisting that she indeed had colors floating around both of her hands, her parents decided to take her to a psychiatrist. There had to be some logical reasoning as to why she was seeing these things.

Just as she had explained to her parents various times, she explained the colors to the psychiatrist, but this time with much less enthusiasm. Haru knew the reaction she would get.

Soon after the visit, Haru was told by her parents that she needed to take medicine to make the colors go away. As they had worded it, ‘it just wasn’t normal.’ 

But the medicine did nothing for her. After taking it for half a year, she could still see the colors just as clearly.

The kids at school would for taking her medicine. They told her she was all sorts of crazy and that no one should go near her because they would catch whatever she had.

Soon enough, she grew to dislike the fact that she could see her colors. If she was the only one who could see them, what was the point? It was wasted beauty.

As she got older, the emotions flooding her system wreaked havoc before her eyes.

Sparks of a variety of reds would shoot up into her field of vision when she would get angry and light swirls of feathery yellow would cover her hands when she was happy. When she was sad, a deep blue would stagnate at her fingertips, looking almost as invisible as she felt.

She dealt with how she felt by herself for the longest time. She pretended to take her meds to make her parents happy and she never mentioned the colors to anyone unnecessarily.

Then one fine high school spring day in her first year, she met them.

Life was infinitely better from then on, bright yellow flowing out from her hands more often than she had ever seen in her whole life.

Now, Haru was in her second year at Korea National University of Arts, majoring in fine arts.

Haru loved every minute of being able to photograph beautiful scenery, but her favorite was taking photographs of people. There wasn't anything more satisfying to her than capturing a human’s natural beauty through her lens, and them feeling equally as confident about themselves after. It made the yellow swirls extend all the way to her elbows when people got a confidence boost from her work.

But today was a Wednesday, and Haru absolutely hated Wednesdays.

Wednesdays meant she had pure general education courses, meaning she would be bored out of her mind all day.

Since second semester of last year, Haru planned for Wednesdays to be the main day to get her gen eds out of the way so she could enjoy her major classes in peace.

As Haru got u