Uneditied, may have errors ^^;;

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Word Count - 2.6K

It was third grade wasn't it? When we met in front of the child care centre. 

You were hiding behind your grandma, eyes wide and afraid. At that moment I had known. I had known how much you had gone through to get that scar that stretched from your eye to your shoulder, to get that nasty frown on your face. To have that pair of grey and brown eyes tearing up slightly at the sight of your new home and to get those small hands of yours fisted so tightly to your sides.

I thought it was weird. The kids in the orphanage would always push you around, just because you were smaller than all of us and never talked during play time. Your head would hang low and you wouldn't speak, your shirt clenched tightly within your fingers. 

Oh, have I mentioned how beautiful you were? The first time I really noticed the light shade of your left eye, I saw stars in them. I saw the dreams you held dear to yourself, the unshed tears you kept in and the unsaid words you forced down your throat. The scar you had detested so much stretched all the way down the right side of your face, covering your bony shoulders. I always thought they looked like the blossoms in spring. You were so, so beautiful. 

You never noticed me staring, because you would always be busy looking out the window, contemplating the chances of escaping what you then thought of as a “hellhole”. But your tiny shoulders would deflate and you would puff out your cheeks, short arms curling around your head as you fall asleep at the corner of the room. And I would still stare. Because no matter how young we were back then, you were still beautiful.

The day when a a couple came in to observe us, you hid yourself up in the closet, remember? You were afraid of being taken away to somewhere else again, to somewhere unfamiliar and distant. I remember sitting right in front of where you were hiding, scaring away the other kids when they began to advance to the closet. I wanted to protect you so bad. Guess what? The couple decided to adopt me. I didn’t say much nor did I tell them who I was hiding, but they knew you were in there. So they said that if I were to follow them, they won’t take you away. I remember looking back at the closet and thinking that if you were safe and happy, then I’ll do anything to keep you that way. So I went away with them, with a new name and a new family. I never got to talk to you.

When I was 17, 8 years after being adopted, I think I saw you at the nearby flower shop. You looked the same, with the same pair of brown and grey eyes, the same scar running down your face. You seemed happy. You held onto every thorn and flower like they were your life, like they had been the one to give you life. And it’s embarrassing to admit that now, but everyday without fail, I would sit at the café right opposite the flower shop, staring at you as you arranged endless combinations of flowers - some bright and colorful and some dull and dark. 

After a few weeks the flower shop was gone. I had waited endlessly for you to come strolling down the street with the keys in your hands, prepared to set up the store at 6.30am like how you would do everyday. But you never came back. Then I heard from some of the people living around there that your adopted parents passed away in an accident, and you were sent to live in a temporary dorm, under the protection of the government. I had worried so much. How were you feeling? Did you cry? Were you sad? I had asked myself. I tried to search for you, but the dorm you were living in was at the other side of the city and I got grounded for spending so much of my allowance on the train tickets.

When I entered college, I saw you again. This time you looked a little different. Your hair was longer and lighter, and you had multiple ear piercings. You weren’t a student, but rather one of the helping staff in the school’s well known modern dance department. You were one of the more popular figures in school, did you know that? Even Jin-hyung, our school president, couldn’t beat you. 

I wasn’t planning on talking to you. You seemed happy this time too, dancing to the beat and tutoring the students who were basically flailing their arms about, trying to catch up with the fast rhythm. You were kind, patient and gentle. Even one of the juniors (was it Jeong Jungkook?) who initially feared you for that scar down your face, came to admire you like you were the Michael Jackson of the dance department. 

I was just walking down the hallway like usual, with the group of friends I hung out with. You were with some of the dance instructors of our school, eyes casted down on the ground as you listened to the music booming so loudly through your headphones. 

You seemed to have caught me staring, eyes leaving the ground and matching mine. For a moment, your eyes widened, seemingly to have remembered something. But then I looked away, because I was so scared you would find out about the many times I had looked at you, the times that I had stared and admired you while you worked. 

I decided to avoid walking that hallway for a while. One day at class, while Mr Park was going through something about some Shakespeare classic, you knocked on the door, catching the attention of the many female students. You strolled in with your loose tank top and expensive nike shoes, holding onto a slip of paper as you walked straight up to the professor.

Everyone was staring you know? You were so fluid with your movements, grey and brown eyes glancing shortly at everyone before looking back to the front. The professor read the piece of paper and he suddenly looked at me