Choi Minho

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    Choi Minho is not your typical player. In fact, he's not a player at all. He's a spectator.

   He has never been the one that boys fight over to be on their team for sports, or the one invited to all the hot parties. He doesn't even like parties.

   He's tall but not lanky, kind hearted but not a saint and he's not bad looking either.

   In truth, he's much like any other 17-year-old boy you know, raging with hormones and filled with a need to become a man in his own rights, except no one sees the man in him. He's only a boy, they say. Only a boy.

   You get the picture. Normal. Average. Teenage guy.

   But through the eyes of any student at Seoul Performing Arts High, Choi Minho is a nerd. A dork and unwanted.

   Cliques exist for a reason, I've been told. It’s so guys like Minho are purposely excluded from social life, forever an outcast.

   Don't get me wrong though, I think he's an okay guy. But who cares about what I think?

   I'm just another normal, average teenager.

 

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    "Choi Minho, you're up!"

   I watched him as he got up from his slouched position on the bench and made his way towards the basketball court, all 182cm of him. He stood next to the coach, who looked like a dwarf in comparison, and reached for the ball. But the stout man moved the ball away from his reach.

   "Not yet boy," a smirk was beginning to form on Coach Lee's rugged face, "I have to announce your opponent first."

   Coach Lee's grey eyes scanned the crowd for possible candidates. I could just see the hunger of wanting to torment the boys, burn in his eyes. Moments passed, and then they landed on Joon. Coach's eyes lit up like fireworks. I could tell he was going to enjoy this.

  "You," he spat, "get up. It's your turn."

   An equally tall and good looking kid stood up. Just another average teen, no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

   As he strode towards the center of the court where Minho stood waiting, the other students started to get rowdy.

   Cheers and jaunts started flying from all directions, while money was being exchanged behind the benches.

   Coach stood between the two giants with the ball in his hands, "on the count of three."

   One, I thought, Joon was your typical high school heartthrob. Tall, good looking and he had a way with words. He was exceptionally talented in the arts and was more often than not, the first to audition for all school activities, dance included.

   Two. Minho who was the complete opposite of Joon, was an introvert as much as Joon was an extrovert. At the mention of school participation, Minho would turn his back and walk away. It didn't matter to any other students that he was coming first in all his subjects or that his parents were the head of a successful toy company. They simply didn't care. Why would they when he's never been seen outside of the piano room, staring blankly at the keys?

   Three. Why won't he play? I wonder.I know he's got talent, his piano playing was the reason he got into a performing arts school after all. I see him every lunch time, with his fingers lingering dejectedly above the keys, longing to feel the smooth surfaces as he presses against them. But he never does. It's a pathetic image, but why is it that when I see him sitting - half disappointed, half determined - on that seat, do I find my heart beating hard, wanting to walk into the room and hear him play? Just answer me this, why won't he play?

   Then Coach chucked the ball up and yelled, "three!"

   That cheating bastard, what happened to one and two?

   But it didn't matter; Minho was already jumping for the ball while Joon was still standing in the same position.

   Joon tensed himself and the girls literally swooned as they watched his defined muscles move to the rhythm of his breaths.

   As Minho was getting ready to dribble past his opponent, Joon stuck out his leg and Minho went flying.

   The crowd seemed to be holding its breath, watching intently as the scene unfolded before them.

   Minho dived head first onto the gym floor, while Joon made a grab for the ball and dribbled past the flat Minho and performed a layout, much to the delight of the on looking girls.

   Cheers and whoops echoed off the walls. The game was over. First to get a point wins. Joon won, though he cheated. But no one minded. It was just another excuse to name Minho the loser once again.

   "Okay, class dismissed."

   Coach walked up to Joon and patted him on the back, ignoring Minho who was still on the ground.

   "Good job son," was all I heard.

   My eyes followed as the father and son duo headed out with the other students, laughing to their heart's content.

   I stayed behind, my gaze directed to the mess that remained motionless on the ground.

   I walked up to the mess and crouched down, offering my hand.

   "Come on, let me help y-" he slapped my hand away.

   "I don't need your help. I'm fine." He stood up then looked me straight in the face. I could see the hurt in them.

   He turned his back on me, and then walked off; my heart fell lower to the ground.

   His lip was cut and bleeding.

 

   I stayed there for a few extra minutes, relishing in the momentary thrill that came with coming into contact with Minho.

   In the distance, I heard the gym door bang close.

   He was gone. Probably off to the piano room again.

   I silently got up and collected my stuff.

   My feet started walking on their own command, taking me to a room I was very familiar with, and no doubt familiar to someone else too. I stood and waited, like I have done every other day. Expecting but also not expecting.

   Today was going to be the same as any other day.

   There was going to be silence.

   Then a trickle of notes began to resound through the air. The soft twinkling of the notes lightly caressed my ears, and also my heart.

   I felt something moist roll down my cheek, but before I could wipe it away, another tear fell.

   It was beautiful.

   I have waited too long to hear those notes being played, being touched as if they were a lover. I have waited too long for Minho to realisethat he doesn't need to be afraid. I have waited too long for him to love again.

   I pushed open the door slowly and watched as his fingers flew across the keyboard. His toned muscles moving slightly as he swayed in time with the song.

   The overhead light seemed to bathe him in a warm glow. I could tell that this is what he was meant to do.

   I could feel it in my heart. And I knew he could feel it too.

   I closed my eyes, enjoying the light melody which was slowly turning long and heavy with emotion. Then the music stopped.

   I heard the chair creak under the weight of its player, and I knew it was time to open my eyes.

   He looked back at me with his deep hazelnut eyes. We continued to stare, hard and long.

   In those few seconds, it felt as if time had stopped and was holding its breath, waiting for the grand finale to happen.

   Minho pulled me down next to him and placed my hands on the keys.

   "Feel its pull," he whispered, "feel the coolness and smoothness of the keys."

   He ran his hands across the ivory and I followed suit.

   "You don't know how long I've waited for this moment, to be able to play next to you."

   He played a short melody, one that sounded familiar.

   "Is that Ode to Joy?" I asked.

   He nodded.

   "You're playing it wrong."

   "I'm not," he said, "I'm simply playing its accompaniment. It may sound weird by itself, but once played together with the original, it sounds like a bird that has finally learnt to fly or like the sun appearing after days of rain and grey clouds. It's a moment of magic."

   My hands instinctively went to the notes of the song I had grown up playing, willing to prove him wrong. And I started to play.

   Minho readied himself. And I readied myself mentally. Will it work?

   Then the notes began to pour out of the piano, mine matching with his and his matching with mine.

   "Two hearts torn apart by lies and stupidity," he looked me in the eyes but continued to play, "each playing to a different tune..."

   His hands never once stopped. The main part of the song was coming.

   "But brought back together in a moment of joy and forgiveness."

   The tears were beginning to stream down my face again.

   "I'm sorry for all I've done to you sweetheart, I know I've caused you a lot of pain. I never wanted to push you away after my dad died. I just needed some time to be alone."

   I wanted to say something but my mouth wouldn't move. My fingers stopped playing.

   "You don't know how long I've been waiting for you to open that door and finally come inside so we could play together. A single melody is nothing if it is not with its partner." His fingers stopped too.

   He turned in his seat and faced me, "I love you, Lee Taemin."

   Those three little words…

   "I love you too, Choi Minho."

   I've been told, can mean the world to just one person, especially when you may feel like you're just one small person living in a big world.

 

   But what would I know?

   I'm just another average, teenage boy.