It's been one year since I started high school in Seoul.

One year since I left my hometown for the first time, urged by my parents to venture out into the world and experience things that I otherwise wouldn't if I stayed in the same country.

One year since I stepped foot into an entirely foreign  land, the words "Hello" and "Thank you" being the only ones I could say with confidence in Korean, while stumbling miserably over the rest.

One year since I found out I can stop the world from moving for exactly seven minutes each day.

After giving it some thought, I came to the conclusion that it was pointless to ask why this ability was given to me, and who decided I should have it. So I've gone ahead and treated this information as one of the obvious facts of life: The sky is blue, Earth has seven continents, and the world around me freezes once each day, for seven minutes.

I'd like to believe that my parents raised me to be more or less morally upright, so I've only ever used this ability for trivial things like getting away from the boys in my year who wanted to confess their feelings for me because they thought I was pretty or something, and from the girls in my class who only ever spoke to me so they'd have a morsel or two to gossip about to their friends.

I'd like to say that I was able to make friends in the past year—if only that were true. The language barrier made it difficult, and to a point, exhausting. The only person who's been patient enough to make sincere conversation with me on a daily basis, despite my only reactions being small nods and tight-lipped smiles here and there, is a short, wide-eyed girl named Son Chaeyoung.

Someday, when I know all the words, I promise to let her know how much I appreciate her for trying so hard.

But today, as my mind becomes too spent to catch up with all the Korean tumbling out of , I feel the need to escape yet again—even from her.

So at that moment, I take a deep breath, tuning out all the sounds around me, and squeeze my eyes shut. Not even a heartbeat later, I'm met with static silence.

I open my eyes and watch Chaeyoung's gaze freeze mid-sparkle, lips parted in a cute, toothy grin. I guess she has a particular fondness for whatever it was she'd been talking to me about.

I stand up and step around a paper airplane stuck in mid-air, taking little glances at the classmates who, judging by their statue-esque positions right then, either used this study period to take naps, chat with friends, play around with their phones, or get some actual studying done.

On most days, I would use my seven minutes to take  short walks down the hallway, content with the stillness surrounding me, the only thing