It wasn’t anything like love at first sight. I didn’t realize that this was the boy I was going to fall in love with in a sudden moment of enlightenment accompanied by brilliant fireworks in the back of my eyelids or butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The fireworks and butterflies came later—much, much later. 

But my first impression of Sehun was of a skinny boy that was hogging the only functioning swing in the playground. I was five and a half and chubby with a sense of self-importance that had been bred by constant adoration from fawning adults who loved my rosy cheeks and precocious, grown-up manner of speaking, and the devotion of most of the neighbourhood kids. The older ones laughed and teased me, but spoiled me shamefully, and the younger ones followed my lead obediently. Because Sehun was so thin and looked so small in the large swing seat, I thought he was younger than I was and naturally assumed he would listen to me. 

I asked him if I could have a turn, politely, of course, with my Ps and Qs.

He had refused, and this shocked me. As a child, I had learned that as long as I smiled prettily and said please, I would get whatever I want. I didn’t cry or throw a temper tantrum though. I glanced uncertainly over at my mother, making small conversation with another mother at the side, before gritting my teeth. I was a stubborn child, and I didn't want to be a tattle tale. I only frowned, standing there uncertainly, hoping that he would change his mind until it became obvious he wouldn’t. He ignored me and soon enough, I gave up and walked off to the slides, thinking that this skinny boy with messy dark brown hair was the meanest kid I ever had the misfortune to meet.

The next time I come to the playground, he was on the swing again. I was dismayed, almost upset, but once he saw me he hopped off. 

“Here,” he said with the staccato pronunciation most children possessed. He had a lisp then. “I’ll let you play this time.”

I smiled so wide it hurt my cheeks, and sat myself placidly on the seat, pushing at the ground to make myself go higher. My toes barely scraped the ground; I was still too short despite being tall for my age. 

“Help me, please.” I wasn’t a shy child.

He did.

After that, we played together at the playground often. If I wanted to play on the swings, he pushed me high enough that I shrieked in a combination of fear and excitement. If he went on the slide, I followed right behind him. We perfected a balancing act on the seesaw until my mother spotted us and scolded me for being such a daredevil before she invited Sehun home for snacks. 

When my father asked during dinner who was my best friend, with all the naive simplicity children possess at that age, I confidently picked Sehun even though we had only been playmates for two weeks. 

Life was simple then, and so were we.

“What’s your name?”

We were six and it was the first day of kindergarten. Sehun and I turned up holding hands at the front entrance after Sehun's mother dropped us off and sent us off with kisses. I reciprocated; Sehun waved back before we were accosted by a tall, pretty woman who smelled nice and was dressed in pink.

“My name is Lee Arang,” I said politely, the way I had been taught, before asking curiously, “Are you our teacher?”

She laughed, seeming pleased that I wasn’t having trouble adjusting to the new environment. In the bustling milieu of small bodies and larger adults with booming voices, there was more than one plaintive little voice rising above the noise crying for his or her mommy. “Perhaps. And what’s your name, boy?”

“Oh Sehun.” He mumbled his name; he still pronounced everything with a short tongue and he had been teased for it more than once. I told him it was cute, but he always felt self conscious about it.

“Are you friends?” She noted our linked hands. 

“He’s my best friend,” I announced proudly. “We’re going to sit together in class.”

She laughed again; she had a pretty laugh that tinkled like silvery bells. “Let’s go see what class you two are in then, shall we?”

It turned out that we were in different classes. I stared up at her in shock—it hadn’t even occurred to me that Sehun and I might be seperated. “But Sehun’s my friend,” I argued. “We’re supposed to share crayons!”

“It’s alright,” she said comfortingly, crouching to look at me in the eye. “You can make new friends, right, Arang? You’re a big girl.”

Sehun only blinked, eyes wide. 

“Sehun, will you be alright?” I asked him worriedly. Sehun was quiet—he preferred listening to talking. He didn’t like to talk much in case people made fun of him. “You’ll be okay, right?”

He nodded, seeming nervous. I quickly knelt down in the hallway and ped my brand new backpack, pulling out the large pack of thirty two crayons my mom had bought for me and shoved it at him.

“I have more colour pencils, so don’t worry. Don’t lose any crayons, okay? I’ll play with you during recess