“Honey, hurry up, you’re going to be late for school.” my mom called from the kitchen. 

I stomped my feet stubbornly and didn’t want to move an inch. I crossed my arms huffed a breath of disapproval. Our family had just moved to Seoul and mom was expecting me to go to school on the second day. I tugged at my new uniform jumper, feeling the foreign material rub on my arms. 

“I don’t want to.” I said. “I’m tired.” 

“We all are, baby.” mom sighed, squatting down to me, smoothing out my hair. “But you’ll meet new friends at school.”

I knew that mom was trying to convince me, but it was still working. I slowly found myself feeling alright with the idea of going to school. But at least I got to stay in second grade, I heard sometimes you’d have to be pushed down since you just moved to the school. I pouted and looked at my mom from under my lashes. 

“Come on, baby.” mom smiled, kissing my forehead. “Go outside and wait. I’ll be out in a second.” 

I sighed in defeat and held onto the straps of my new school bag, making my way outside. Immediately as I stepped outside, I felt the morning air settle on me, making me smile. I hated myself for enjoying the fact that I was defeated and had to go to school. 

While waiting for my mom, I began playing on the stair in front go my house, watching people pass by. Watching men on their cellphone’s talking, rushing past. Watching mothers with prams, walking slowly, smiling down at their babies. Watching students hurriedly making their way to school. 

I would jump down each step and when I got to the bottom, I’d jump back up and repeat the process. It gave me a sense of temporary satisfaction. Until I slipped off the last step and went tumbling down to the floor, scraping my bare knees and elbow onto the concrete. The sharp burn made my leg ache and it was immediately followed by and wail. 

I cried like I was being tortured, like I was in a mass amount of pain. Being the child I was, instead of standing up and dusting myself off, I sat there and cried, waiting for something to happen. Looking back, why was I such a child?

“Are you okay?” I heard a small voice say. “Did you fall?” 

I looked up from the concrete and saw a boy, standing in front of me, offering me his hand to stand up. He was only small, maybe one or two years older than me, so maybe he was only nine or ten. I stopped sobbing loudly and started sobbing lightly, holding onto his hand to stand up. Moving made the scrape hurt and I winced.

He had a kind smile. His eyes were a very warm shade of brown. He looked very nice for my first impression. I hiccuped due to so much ‘intense’ crying and watched silently as he dusted me off, wiping my tears away. 

“Is this your house?” he said softly, pointing to my house. 

I nodded. Just as he was about to lead me up the flight of stairs I had just fallen down, my mom came out the door, checking inside her bag. 

“Honey, are we ready to go? You’re going- Oh my gosh!” she stopped mid sentence, seeing me with all the wounds. 

“I was walking to school and I saw her fall down, aunty.” the boy explained as I started crying again. “I actually just live next door.”

Mom bent down and checked my scraped and cuts, sighing. She then looked at the boy, still standing next to me. 

“Thank you.” mom smiled. “What’s your name?” 

“Bang Yongguk.” he said. 

“Honey, say thank you to oppa.” mom ushered me. “He helped you.” 

I didn’t know why, but I had always hated to concept of calling someone ‘oppa’. Maybe it was because of my old neighbor, always whining to her older brother, alway getting on my nerves. That was probably why I didn’t like calling someone ‘oppa’. 

I shook my head stubbornly and hid behind my mom. I knew that it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I just didn’t like people telling me what to do. I knew that I was suppose to thank this boy but I just simply didn’t want to. 

“Come on…” my mom sighed. “Sorry, Yongguk. Thank you. You should go to school before you’re late.” 

Yongguk smiled at me, a small but friendly smile. He then looked at my mom before greeting her formally, and leaving. Just as he left, he gave me a small wave that I ducked away from. Not a very good way of making friends in my new neighborhood. 

Although the fall was painful and made me very sore, my mom let me stay home from school after that, which was a good thing, I guess… Mom treated my wounds with antiseptic and comforted me when I cried, because it stung my scrapes. But mom also told me off for being rude to Yongguk. She told me that it wasn’t nice to treat someone like that after they helped me. 

After the short lecture, I decided that I would be nicer and properly speak to Yongguk when I saw him next. But I knew that by saying that, I was only avoiding it, so I decided to wait outside my house until he walked back from school. I sat on the stairs and waited, until I saw students start coming my way. 

I tried scanning all the faces, trying to recognize Yongguk’s face. I was starting to think that I had forgotten his face, since there were so many students walking by and none of them were him, until I saw a figure walking right at the back of the crowd. I stood up, walking cautiously down the stairs, before waiting for him. When he saw me, Yongguk smiled and waved. I tried smiling back, but I was still angry at him for getting me in trouble with my mom. 

“Hi there.” he smiled, approaching me. “You okay now?” 

“Yeah.” I said quietly, showing him my knee with the pink butterfly bandaid. “Thank you.”

He smiled again, showing his gums. I was starting to think that there was something wrong with this boy. Why was he always smiling? 

“It’s okay. I’m Yongguk.” he stretched his hand out. 

I took it, before mumbling an introduction of my name. When he released me, he sat down on a staircase, looking at me expectingly. As if waiting for me to do the same. I settled down next to him and sat there awkwardly, waiting for him to say something. 

“How old are you?” Yongguk asked, turning to me. 

I turned to him and showed him eight fingers. He nodded and laughed a bit at my stubbornness, then showing me ten of his own fingers. 

“I’m ten.” 

“Do I really have to call you oppa?” I asked, rather angrily. “I hate it.” 

“No.” he shook his head. “I don’t like it when girls call me oppa. It’s yucky. Cooties.” 

I laughed and agree. “It is yucky.” 

Like that, we clicked. I then told him about my neighbor that would not shut up. I told him about my old neighborhood and how it was different to my new one. Yongguk only listened and nodded, not interrupting me, or telling me he was bored. We talked until his mom called him in, from next door, for dinner. 

Like that, the eight year old me and the ten year old him met.