“damn it! I am late again! I will never wake up this late again”! It was one of the many promises I made. Every morning was the same. I would wake up late, eat and dress up in the same time and then hurriedly abandon my apartment, but then suddenly remember the backpack I've left behind so I need to get back for it and then run to the school.

Yeah, nothing has changed. I'm still the same Chanhee I once was.

My baggy clothes make me look like a nerd, emphasized with the big glasses on my eyes that I have to wear because I am practically always immersed into some papers so my vision is slightly blurry at the times. But actually I am not a nerd. I don't even like school. I have like, what, a mere B? And it's only because I mostly buy chocolate pralines to female teachers to get a good mark.

Hey, don't judge me! They are the ones falling for the trick!

So, I am not a nerd. But a terrible fanatic of literature. I like writing and reading, and I can't spend even a day without writing down at least few sentences onto a paper. My mother doesn't really approve of me doing that, but she got over it when she realized that I was ready to do that even behind her back. Yet I could never realize why she was so much against it.

And my father... is in America. He is the one keeping our family going. He sends money to mother and me every month but he's rarely ever home, so I sometimes even wonder if he still knows my name. Not like I care much, though. I'm not much of a emotional person. Nor do I have friends. My only friends are pencils and papers. We hang out very often. See, having them as best friends means never getting betrayed or hurt. They always do as I say. Literally. What I think always somehow ends up on a paper. Or sometimes even on my hands when I don't have a paper around and I'm dying from inspiration. Am I a weirdo? Very much so, yes. But I hardly care about what other people think about me. I never talk to them, ha! I have so much things on my mind, but I always pour them down only on a paper. I'd always had this problem with expressing myself. I can express my feelings only through a paper, but in the reality, I am too shy to say anything. My mind gets blank every time I need to say something sweet. That's why I always argue with others in school, because that is my natural reflex. I want to say something nice, but end up saying something stupid and then they hate me.

You could say that I ended up as a loner because of that.

Seeing that I was in front of the school gates, I slowed down and then just blended into the crowd, as if I was invisible.

Yeap, nothing has changed.

It was just a normal regular day.

“write a story for me.”

hold on. Have I heard that right? A complete stranger was asking me to write a story for him?

With an utter confused face, I turned to the blonde guy behind me. He wore a simple school outfit and had a shy smile on his face. With a spark of gentleness in his eyes.

“why would I write a story for you”? I blurted out kinda rudely, again not thinking before talking. I should really consider training myself to stop being so rude.

“just write a story for me.” he insisted and I stared dumbfounded at his flawless face.

Have I ever seen him around? Noup. Not like I ever even cared.

“I'm sorry, I don't write for people.” I shook my head in disbelief.

“write a story. For me. Please.” with that, he stepped back and sent one other shy smile in my way. “meet me up after school in front of the gates. Don't be too late.”

and just like that, he walked away. Without even saying his name.

Who was this stranger, and why would he want me to write him a story? Furthermore, how does he even know that I'm a writer? But I thought no one cared enough to pay attention to me!

The question was, would I be curious enough to go to that meeting and find out the answers to my questions, or just continue being my normal self and ignore his offer?

Well, that was still a mystery to me.