How do you fall in love with someone? After observing their smile? Their gentle face? Their laughter that can make people laugh too, or the way they care for you? Or what? I thought that these could be some of the reasons why you fall in love. But, how in the world I fell for Minho? Because, Minho- he was anything but caring. He was anything but one who would smile at you charmingly. He was a whole package of rudeness. He was colder than the flakes of the snow of the winter. He was tougher than the toughest guy in the world.

I still don’t remember the exact time when I have got a soft spot for a hard person like him. And I am so much irritated at myself for feeling like that. I strongly hate him, but at the same time I can’t help loving him too. And here I am- a whole package of confusion.

I was heading back to home from school, in a street where no Minho was there to adulterate my innocent mind. But, he was still in my head. I always found myself talking to him in my head. I kept on telling him what happened to me the whole day. One time, I would talk and he’d listen. Next, I’d be in the place of Minho and talk for him while I, the ‘Taemin’ would just listen. This conversation would go on and never stopped. I pulled my hair in frustration ‘cause no matter what; I couldn’t get him out of my head. Even when I was in class, listening to the lectures of the teacher; or when doing my homework; or when watching a random movie on TV- the Minho in my head always kept on talking to me and he never gave me a break. I was getting tired- getting tired of the Minho in my imagination, who was always good, unlike the real Minho in school.

Wished I could put my own brain on a tray and inspect which part of it keeps on thinking about Minho every nanosecond. And after finding out the part, I’d surely cut off that part of my brain, just to rid myself from the torture it’s giving to me.

So I decided to get over with it all. I went to Minho, who had no nervous system in his whole body, I believe. Because, I never really saw him smiling. His face never showed an expression. Was it because he can’t SHOW expressions or he just can’t FEEL anything, I had no idea. All I saw him doing- he’d read some Shakespeare’s not-so-famous sonnets, or drabbling a football on the vast playground of our school, or writing something in his diary.

As planned, I reached to Minho that day.

“Get out of my head, Choi Minho!” I said almost shouting to him, pointing at my head.

He just looked over me for some moments and like nothing happened, he went back to his book.

I know, requesting him to get out of my head- it will neither help me nor Minho. It was not HIS fault anyway. It’s me, who messed up everything. So, I decided doing something different.

“Hey Minho, will you be my boyfriend?”

“Okay.” He shrugged.

My mouth fell open at his reply. Did he notice even who the one asked him to be his boyfriend? But, it was not my concern though. He was my boyfriend officially, that’s all that mattered. I could hope Choi Minho will get out from my head eventually, as he’d talk with me now for real, without bothering to come in my head- hopefully.

“What’s my name?” I asked Minho next day.

“Taemin?” he said short.

So, he knew. When or how, I don’t know.

When school ended, I dragged him and he let me drag him wherever I wanted him to go.

“Let’s go Minho?”

“Where?”

“A date, of course. And a lovely lunch.” I said smiling.

“… Oh, okay.” He replied, like it’s just a power lunch we’re going to have.

Afterall, it was Choi Minho though, I couldn’t complain.

Many more dates were there after that- which only included me telling him my stories to him and him listening to me. It helped me a lot because this way, the Minho in my head didn’t always start a conversation behind everyone’s eye. Rest in peace, Choi Minho.

I never realized that the soft spot in my heart for him is getting softer day by day, until he suddenly disappeared one day.

It was winter.

Choi Minho had his birthday in December.

I used to write poems- it did help me in a way, that the words I couldn’t utter, I could just write them down. No one would ever understand the real meanings the poems would say, but these were poems nevertheless. Everyone took a liking towards them. So, I decided to write a poem for Minho. I’d wake up in the morning, go to him and seeing him early in the morning through the soft morning light, whatever would come in my mind, I’d write for him instantly. It was my plan.

But, I couldn’t materialize my plan at last.

Minho didn’t come to school that day, though I kept on waiting for him from almost the time when the sun woke up.

That day passed, which followed the day after that, and the day after that. A rude Minho didn’t come back to a person like me who still was waiting with a soft spot in his heart.

I went to his house. His mother opened the door.

“Auntie, is Minho there?”

“No, he went out somewhere the night before his birthday, till then we couldn’t find him, yet.”

“Umm… can I go to his bedroom for once?”

“Uhm…well, oh… actually…” she trailed off here.

I chuckled.

“I’ll just see if I could find a trace with which we could find him. Nothing else.” I smiled a bit.

“… Oh okay.” She consented.

I roamed through his bedroom. It was my first time going his home. The bed looked like he just slept there last night. How could he not come back knowing someone might wait for him? Well, he never cared. All the hugging and holding hands- I started them first. He never took the first move.

I sat on his office chair, in front of the table. I saw the notebook where he always kept on writing. Curiosity got better of me, and I opened it.

I gaped.

It was my habit to scribble down something in a random paper and once I finished writing it, I’d through it away. I wrote many many short stories, short poems or some random few lines in my life; but never bothered to collect it all. Who does that lot hard work? But, there was Minho’s notebook, where he pasted all my writings that I wrote in my class and then threw it away on floor. He somehow collected it. Even the crumbled paper said those because I’d crumble those pieces of papers in my hand and then threw away. He pasted them all- every piece he found – on a separate page, and then commented on it. I