The freezing winds of December brush on my face as I exit the building of SMENT with a smile on my face—after years of constant training, I am finally going to earn a debut along with some others who worked really hard.

“Jonginnie, take care on your way home, arrasseo? I’m going to take the train home now.” Junmyeon-hyung says, patting my head as we part ways. I give him a reassuring smile. “Ne, hyung. See you at practice tomorrow.”

I put my freezing hands on the pockets of my coat, walking through the path of snow leading to the nearby bus stop. It’s the same routine everyday—we end up our practice at nine o’clock in the evening, and I find myself waiting for the last bus to come at 9:30.

It is in the small bench of the bus stop that I’d wait for 30 minutes every day, pondering on the day that has again passed—wondering how many more nights it would take until I get to grasp my dream of being an idol at last. And today, December 14, 2010—just a month before I turn 17—my doubts are finally set at their rest.

Thinking about all of these things makes me fail in suppressing a grin, and as I snap off my thoughts, I look up to see that I only have one company in waiting for the last bus ride—a girl immersed in reading a book…probably a novel. I recognize her, the moment I notice her slightly hunched shoulders, with her brown hair falling off exactly on her shoulders.

She was the same girl I used to wait with, for thirty minutes, before the last bus arrives. We never talked, though, and I never knew her name—all I know is that she attended the same school as I did, recognizing her uniform at once.

I wasn’t aware of my glance turning into a stare, and so when she lifted her eyes from the book and looked into mine, I cannot help but tilt my head away in mental shame, with my cheeks slightly heating up. Aish, Jongin, you awkward turtle.

From the gaze that we just shared seconds earlier, I guess I’d be honest to say that she wasn’t a stun. No, she wasn’t ugly—she was pretty in a certain way; she wasn’t the type to be stunning, but it’s that unexplainable look in her eyes that can make anyone wonder about her.

And I was one of those people who constantly did, after sharing my first eye contact with her.

What made me wonder, was to how all of my guts went down the drain when she looked at me. I was usually more confident with people in talking to them, but her holding gaze certainly drives it away from me, leaving me feeling like I am awkward rather.

The short honks of the bus made both of us jolt from sitting down minutes later.

I immediately went in and from the corner of my eye, I saw her picking up the book that fell on the ground. She must have had a nap and dropped her book…

I silently curse myself for not helping her out or not being a gentleman, at the very least, as I plop down to the seat in the backmost part of the bus. I watch her come in, squinting her eyes a little as she sat down on the row in my right front. I felt like a creep in the brief moments of stealing glances at her; I noticed the way her medium-length, wavy brown hair fell on her face, and the slightly plump cheeks that she had as she looked at the window. How old is she? 15? 16? I don’t know why, but I made a mental note to befriend her one of these days—just so I can share conversations with someone as I wait for the ride home.

It’s probably me having my own seeking for a friend’s company that urged me to approach her this time. With this year being a tough one, and with the practices taking most of my after school schedule, my friends started to drift away from me, as each meeting with them became lesser and lesser frequent.

I watched her step out of the bus on the fourth stop, careful not to look very obvious again. The door already closed when I noticed a black, moleskin notebook, resting from where she sat. I looked around and saw that only three people were left in there.

And as the bus halted on its’ fifth stop, where I’ll be off to, I picked the notebook up. It might be very important to her; I’ll just return it tomorrow.

Opening the first page of her notebook, there was a simple note, neatly scribbled on the bottom right of it.

이하늘, School of Performing Arts, Seoul.

“Lee Haneul…”I read in a mumble as I neared home. It was the first time I knew her name, which meant heaven. It was in this certain day, that Lee Haneul enters my life and becomes someone I know, from the girl who used to simply wait with me. Again, I repeat her name in a mumble and I cannot explain it, but my lips curve to a small smile.

Never has it occurred to me that this heaven will trudge her way to my life, and my heart.