I went to a crappy old high school. I never liked it. The kids there were rough and uncouth, the teachers never marked rolls, and even the principal didn’t care what happened. The school only existed because of the lack of public high schools in the area. In fact it was the only public high school there.

Our school did not have any uniform regulations and even if it did, no one would follow it anyway. Most days, I wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans with a beret and glasses. My shoes were just ballet flats, black ballet flats.

I only attended to take advantage of the surprisingly amazing music program they offered despite the fact that the enrolment for music classes were scarce. The music rooms were the only rooms in the school that remained with white walls, the rest of the school were graffitied with various gang slogans. The music room also doubled up as a dance practice room, with huge mirrors on one wall. A grand piano, black, shiny and unscratched, was in the corner for those who wished to use it. Added to the luxuries of the music rooms, was an air conditioner.

Not many people used it, despite the rich furnishings. Apart from those who had a passion for music, it was left well alone, being all the way on the other side of the school to the main building. The music students shared it with the dance team. A roster was put up outside the room times labelled clearly on the schedule. I used it every Wednesday afternoon. I practiced from as soon as I got there after school, until nearly seven in the evening.

When I got there, I used the time to practice on my exam pieces, my school music assessment pieces, general songs or even songs that I had composed myself. It was relaxing to practice my form of art in seclusion. I knew that no one would bother me there.

One day, our school announced that they were going to build new dance rooms. The dance team cheered and it was then that I knew our music room was never going to be violated by those dancers again. We were going to have it all to ourselves.

We asked for help in moving the piano to the centre of the room. It took a lot of effort, but it was worth it. The hard work was worth seeing the school’s only proper musical instrument in the centre of attention, where it belonged.

But I guess I should tell you about myself. You must be thinking, there must be other schools with better music programs elsewhere, or maybe your parents could just pay for a private school education. I don’t have parents. I live by myself in a tiny apartment, living off my aunt’s kind charity, which she sends every week by mail and my inheritance. I have virtually no friends, except those shared my passion for music. Although they weren’t really friends, just people I knew well.

You must also be wondering, what is so interesting about my story? Nothing has happened in it yet. But notice that I use the word yet.

The roster’s time slot for Monday afternoons was empty after the dance team moved out and I decided to take advantage of it. No one opposed it, but no one added my time slot onto the official roster either.

One Monday, I was practicing until nearly six, when I collapsed from sheer exhaustion and fell asleep on the piano. I have no memories of what happened the rest of that night, except for one little thing. My dream, as I slept on the keys of the piano.

I dreamt of fire. I dreamt of red, hot flames engulfing me as I slept. I dreamt of myself in the fire, unconscious. Whether I was deeply asleep or drugged was unknown. The flames rose up higher and higher, threatening to burn me to a crisp. I seemed to be in the school music room, sleeping on the piano keys. The flames got hotter and hotter, obscuring my vision, and that was the last thing I remembered from that night.

The next time I woke up, I was in my apartment, feeling completely refreshed. It was the next day, and the sun was out, bright and shining. I went to my usual classes, surprised to find the walls were sparkling white instead of the usual graffiti. I didn’t react too much though, after all, I hadn’t been attending classes for two weeks because of an important music recital. Maybe they had the students clean up.

I sat in my usual seat, opening my bag to get out my books, when someone spoke to me:

‘You’re in my seat.’ I was shocked, firstly, because someone had spoken to me and secondly, because this had been my seat for the past year. The voice spoke again: ‘Are you a new kid? I haven’t seen you around before.’

Instead of replying, I simply moved to a seat at the back dumped my books on the desk. Unfortunately, whoever it was followed me and continued talking. ‘Wow, your books look ancient. You need new editions man. They look at least a hundred years old.’

He then shoved his books in my face. I was offended. I did have newish versions of the textbook, but then I realised the boy’s version was one that was released this year. My one was released ten years ago.

I looked up to see his face and realised with a shock, that he was really handsome. Sure, he had single eyelids, but at the moment they were half-moon shapes, forming an attractive eye smile. His smile was infectious, making me want to smile along with him. His hair was straight and layered, complementing his looks perfectly.

Unfortunately, the bell rang at that moment and he dashed to his seat. The teacher came in and the class instantly quietened down. I thought it was odd, but dismissed it as the teacher rambled on about history and politics, topics I had always found boring. But this time, without the usual chatter and noise, I was actually able to concentrate and take notes.

At the end of the period, I started to get up to go to my next class, when the handsome boy from before sauntered up to me. And when I say sauntered, I MEAN sauntered. His walk was confident and that’s when I realised he was quite buff. His attire consisted of a grey tank top, black pants and kicks. The grey tank top revealed his arms, which definitely showed signs of working out, but not the full on muscle. His chest was broad and I wondered for a second what it would be like to lie on, before attempting to bring myself back to reality.

‘I’m Lee Junho.’ He introduced himself with shockingly informal words and smiled his irritatingly attractive eye smile. I found myself forgiving him, even if it was irritating.

‘Han Minyoung.’

He grinned so widely that I wondered if his face would crack from it. This boy called Junho took my hand and led me out of the classroom, asking me casually what class I had next. I gruffly replied that I had physics in room 34 and he squealed. I MEAN squealed and said he had the same class as me. Then he asked me a weird question:

‘When is your birthday?’

I replied with sign language, first holding up a four to indicate April and then a five to indicate the fifth. He nodded and then said something unforgivable:

‘That means I’m your oppa! Call me Junho-oppa!’

He must’ve seen my stony expression, for he stopped talking and stared off into space instead. When we finally reached the classroom, he ran to the back and saved a seat for me. I found it oddly sweet.

We spent out physics period doodling in each other’s books. Neither of us had ever liked physics and we had fun giggling in the back. He asked me then what I did for lunch and I replied that I went to the music room.

After the period had ended and the bell had rung to signify the beginning of lunch, Junho dragged me off to a tree with silver benches placed around it. He told me that for today, I was to meet his friends and start ‘hanging out with them.’

I first met Taecyeon, a beastly looking boy, but really, his personality was as cute as that of a puppy dog. Junsu was next, creating a bad impression with his loud and slightly obnoxious accent, he couldn’t help it though, it was just the way he was. Chansung staggered up next, I was surprised to learn that he was the youngest in his group, considering the way he towered over everybody except Taecyeon.

Wooyoung came up to me next, introducing himself and telling me not to underestimate him because of his cheeks, apparently there was poison inside. When Nickhun appeared to gallantly take my hand and announce his name and the fact that he was from Thailand, I was taken by his dazzling good looks, accompanied with a wink for me. Jaebeom bounced up last, ranting about something, before noticing me and giving a small nod of acknowledgment before going on with his rant.

After that, I sat with the boys every lunch time. The interactions between them were interesting enough for me to tear away from the precious lunch times for practicing my music.

It was one day after school, when I realised how much less I had been playing the piano, when Junho offered to walk me home, and I complied, disregarding my afternoon piano sessions. I had tried to decline his offer, but we were halfway towards my house when I decided I really did need to get back. Junho, being the sweet boy he is, walked me back to school. I started to walk off in the direction of the music room when he stopped me.

‘The music room is that way,’ he said, pointing to the main building.

I shrugged and just walked off towards the direction of the music room, when I saw Wooyoung blocking my way. ‘That music room is haunted.’

‘Whatever,’ I replied. Not caring.

‘I’m serious, there was a fire there, ten years ago, and the whole room was burnt down. A girl was trapped there; they say she fell asleep on the piano keys. Everything in there was burnt to a crisp, everything except the cursed piano. Even the girl’s body was burnt to ashes.’

I was scared now, but determined not to show it. Junho must’ve noticed my fear, for he gave me a hug and smiled. I smiled back, instantly feeling better. Wooyoung made a face filled with digust and walked off, muttering something that sounded distinctly similar to ‘couples…’ Junho only grinned and told me to stay safe.

Normally, when I walked home in the dark, I just walked home. I felt as if there was nothing to be afraid of. This time, however, I wanted to keep myself safe for Junho. I was jumpy and nervous every time a car passed by. I reminded myself of the reward for being cautious, being able to see Junho’s smiling face the next day.

The months passed and I fell in a comfortable routine with Junho and the group. However, these last few weeks, I had grown increasingly distant, cringing to see Junho’s hurt face whenever I turned him down to go to events. I couldn’t help it, the piano just drew me in, all I wanted to do was to go to it and play.

‘Can I watch you play?’ Junho asked one day, out of the blue.

I gave a quiet consenting nod and led him to the music room. Instead of getting out music sheets, or even chords I had written down as a skeleton to some of my songs, I made a song up on the spot. It was my song for him. My song for Junho.

At the end of the song, he looked at me in awe, before whispering: ‘ That was amazing.’ I blushed and he looked at me expectantly, wanting more.

After that, it became a semi-regular thing. Whenever he was free, he would join me in the music room and afterwards, he would walk me home. I enjoyed walking home with him. There wasn’t too much chit chatting as one might expect from a girl, but the silence was not awkward either. It was a comfortable silence, with either of us enjoying the other’s company.

We kept it a secret from the rest of the guys, deeming it as ‘our little secret.’ Sometimes, Junho would sing along to the song I was playing to and my ears would strain to hear every part of that melodious, angelic, delicious voice. He became my companion in the music room, sharing the passion for music.

It was not long after that, that I started having fainting spells. It only happened at the music room, and each and every time, I would wake up to a concerned Junho who always asked me if I was ok. I would always reply with a yes, I’m fine. Junho then proceeded to make me blush each and every single time, by staring at my straight in the eyes and telling me he was worried about me.

The fainting spells came more and more often and I got more and more tired. Even during school, I fell in class for entire double periods. I didn’t faint, I was simply too exhausted from fainting to function properly.

Junho then forbade to go to the music room, arguing that it contributed to my fatigue. I had objected strongly, before he grabbed my arms and made me melt under his gaze. I couldn’t say no to him and so, stayed away from the music room.

Instead, I had study dates with Junho, who insisted on me tutoring him. I think he just did it to keep tabs on where I was every night. Needless to say, I complied and here we were, doing our English homework together on my bed.

Studying with Junho was fun though, so I did not complain much. But then the urges came. I needed to play the piano. I craved it. Without Junho noticing, I curved my fingers and played the imaginary piano in front of me. Day by day, I tried to satisfy my urges using this method. It all accounted to too much and I ran off one day after school, not caring if he knew. I just needed it.

After an hour, I heard footsteps outside and knew it was him. I turned around guiltily and the crushed expression on his face. He went and sat down over at the corner by himself, and I knew then that he was mad at me. Trying to bribe him, I played our favourite song. He stood up and walked silently over. I was up to the chorus, when he joined in and sang. The room burst into flames around us, but we didn’t notice. We kept on singing, like an enchantment.

When at last, the song finished, I saw the horror on his face. Searching for a similar emotion within myself, I was surprised to find none. That was when I realised, that maybe just maybe, I’m not part of this world.

If I wasn’t part of this world, maybe I could save my love, who was. I took a deep breath and picked him up, embracing him. I could hear his weak protests, ignoring them, as sparks flew onto my back and burned my flesh. I was surprised that I could feel the burn but not the pain that was supposed to accompany it. I felt no pain at all.

I set him down near the entrance, allowing him to jump over the burning timber. He made it successfully and reached out for me. I smiled sadly and walked back to where I came from. I’m sorry, Junho. I hope we meet again.

Junho was hysterical. Minyoung was still in the flames, most likely perished.

‘What’s wrong boy?’ One of the ambulance officers asked.

‘She’s still trapped in there.’

‘Now, now… calm down. There’s no one in there.’

After a few hours, the fires were finally put out. The strange thing was, even though most of the room was burnt horribly, the piano remained untouched by the flames. The fire fighters were still mystified as to what the cause was.

Junho went home for the night. There was nothing more he could do. I wish I could’ve asked her out though, he thought.

The next morning, Wooyoung came up to him with a shocking revelation.

‘She was never here.’

‘Who?’ He played dumb, because he didn’t want to think what he had suspected to be true.

‘Minyoung. She died ten years ago. She was the girl who fell asleep at the piano keys. How could she be here if she died? I knew she was weird when I first met her. I did some research and found her photo from ten years back.’

‘No,’ A choking sob was emitted from Junho.

‘Face it. Han Minyoung was supposed to be dead when we knew her.’

‘She. She…’

‘She what?’ Wooyoung asked impatiently.

‘She carried me through the flames, lovingly, protecting me from the flames. Maybe she isn’t human, but she still loved me.’ Junho wouldn’t tell anyone of the sad look on her face, almost as if she regretted leaving him. That secret was theirs to keep.

He saw Wooyoung sigh in front of him, almost as if it pained him to do the next step. Wooyoung flipped to a bookmarked page of a very old, very dusty yearbook. It was about halfway through and contained a giant picture of a girl, accompanied with big, fancy slabs of text.

Startled, when Junho looked closer, he realised it was Minyoung. The title was bold and proclaimed R.I.P Han Minyoung. The caption underneath the photo read, Loving daughter, Hardworking student and Loyal friend, died in a fire on the twenty third of the third month this year.

Strangely enough, this did not diminish the love he felt for the younger girl. Although Minyoung was not human when he met her, it didn’t matter. He loved her for her sweet dedication to music, for her quiet, but quirky demeanour. It didn’t matter what she was. What mattered was who she was. Maybe his first love was a ghost, or something else, but it didn’t matter, at least his first love was a genuine love.