I suppose our first proper meeting happened the next year.

I was colouring something and generally doing a pretty good job of staying out of my mother’s way as she dealt with guests when you walked in with your parents.

You were hiding behind your mother’s legs. I wanted to get your attention so I came out and said hello, even before my mother could.

Your mother was very sweet. “Look, Taeminnie,” she said. “A friend.”

I introduced myself the way my kindergarten teacher had taught me to. “I’m Kim Jongin. I’m five years old. Pleased to meet you.”

The first thing you said was “I’m your hyung.”

I don’t quite know what set me off, but according to my mother I stomped my stubby little legs and insisted that I wouldn’t call you hyung because you were smaller than me. You replied that you wouldn’t speak to me if I didn’t.

We all know who won that battle, because I’ve never said the words ‘Taemin-hyung’, but for a few days I did wonder whether I should just give in anyway. You were the only person of my age staying at our pension and I wanted so badly to play with you.

But then you found a pretty shell and we both forgot about formality and manners.

If only our other arguments were so easily resolved.