Lee Hayi liked spending her break in the school’s library. Oddly, even though people called it a lunch break, Hayi never really found an appetite for that hour, and small talk with her classmates would often bore her to death. So she’d spend that time in the library. For Hayi, that was the true definition of a break. It was the only place where no one was allowed to disrupt her. Where any form of loud distraction was completely banned. The only peaceful place in that godforsaken hell of a school.

It was her favourite room out of the entire school grounds. People left her alone. And if there was anything she liked more than being left alone, it was books. In the library, there were plenty of them. Through books, Hayi would find herself escaping to a world of oblivion and obstinate imaginations. A world where Gatsby threw extravagant parties for Daisy, where Charlie tried weed brownies for the first time, where Harry defeated the evil that was Voldemort. Hayi loved the perspective that each book had to offer. She fell in love with the way the words fell so perfectly together, the way life was presented so luridly and abysmal all at the same time.

One day, Hayi realized that books were, in fact, quite similar to people. They hurt you, they make you laugh—they even make you fall in love. The only difference is that books could never hurt you worse than any human can. You cannot control humans. While with books, if the words are hurting you, you get to choose: put it down or carry on.

In Hayi’s eyes, that was the most special thing about them.

. . .

Kim Hanbin liked spending the hour of his break chain smoking cigarettes, blackening his only set of lungs, at the school rooftop. The rooftop wasn’t limited to the students, nor was it even available for anyone to use. But Hanbin just had to find a place where he could spend his free hour—somewhere he could isolate himself from the dreadful stares of the people whom called themselves his classmates.

Anywhere.

So the boy stole a couple of rooftop keys from the janitor and discovered that lair. It was perfect. Perhaps almost too perfect.

Of course, not including the pleasure of being able to smoke freely without having any teachers to scold him for it, he loved the view that the rooftop had to offer, too. Especially in the spring. , did Hanbin love the view in the spring! The way the cherry trees would blossom into pink and the petals would spread on the roads like water. From the rooftop it seemed as if the students underneath were walking in a—somewhat—rosy, soft ground. Maybe something like cotton candy.

The vibrancy of the colours had almost made it seemed like humans could be as kind and warm, too. As beautiful as spring, maybe. But Hanbin was smart enough to know that he shouldn’t fall for that. Stupid nature, he’d think to himself, stop making me think that humans are nice.

He knows—no—he had it planted and secured at the very root of his brain, that humans are the exact opposite of what nature’s fabricating them out to be like. They were the closest thing to monsters.

Humans are the kind that would cheat on their wife, find a new family in the meantime and keep it hidden for five years, until Hanbin turned twelve, of course. And only then would he announce to his wife that he was leaving. The words would come out so easily, too. Very rehearsed.

Humans are the kind that would leave their son and give him back to his father, who had already done the leaving ages ago, because she had fallen pregnant with another child and she couldn’t afford to take care of the older one anymore. Afford with money, sure. She had money here and there—a heaps lot, actually. But unfortunately, money couldn’t buy time. And she simply didn’t have the time to deal with the sick child. The dying one.

Kim Hanbin’s parents were humans. Breathing and alive.

Perhaps this is why Hanbin ing hated humans.

. . .

Hayi stared at the book she just finished (for the third time). She blinked once, checked the time on her phone, and after finding out she had about twenty minutes left to spare, she got up from her favourite spot to pick out another book. Not necessarily a new one. Now and then, Hayi found pleasure in re-reading books. It was similar to experiencing the same feeling all over again, except with a little less intensity but added more depth to the understanding of it.

Hayi liked to understand.

It took a good few minutes until she made up her mind, but finally, she chose a book called Norwegian Wood. Hayi had read it before, she was sure, but she didn’t remember quite well how the story went, or how she had felt like while reading the book. So the girl took the book to her favourite spot, near the massive windows. Only then, when she took her seat, she opened the book to find a piece of paper on the very first page. Hayi unfolded this piece of paper, and with a terrible, (yet endearing) handwriting, it said:

‘Hello, to whoever grabbed this book. Actually, it has nothing so much to do with the book but here’s the thing, and I’ll make it short: I need a friend…which sounds totally creepy, but if you keep on reading, you’ll realize that it’s actually even creepier. My doctor says that I should at least have a friend before I die. Apparently talking to someone about my problems reduces stress levels, and you see, less stress is very good for my condition. Who knows? It might even cause a miracle. I promised my doctor I’ll find one—a friend—so here I am. Don’t worry, we don’t have to meet. We can just text. I don’t think meeting is a very good idea either.
Oh, and you’re probably asking yourself, then what do I get out of this? Well, like what you were trying to find when you chose this book: A story.
Here’s my number…
(If you’re not going to contact me please place this letter inside a different book. A book that you’ve read. One which tells a good story. Thank you.)’

Hayi was close to laughing when she finished reading the letter. It was childish, but a sense of genuineness was there. She wondered about many things. Like, what is the name of the person who wrote it? Are they a girl or a boy? Why are they dying? Why did the content of that letter made her feel endearment? The letter was certainly absurd, yet still she pulled out her phone from her pocket and texted the very number on the written piece of paper. It wasn't every day that you find a piece of letter inside a book, after all.

Is it a good story? Your story, I mean.

. . .

Hanbin was smoking his third cigarette, that lunch break, when his phone buzzed inside the pocket of his uniform trousers. He reached for the phone and upon opening it, he was greeted by the message screen.

A smile graced his lips. He held the cigarette between his teeth and used both hands to type.

How would I know? It’s not over yet. I can only offer sincerity at the moment.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

Okay, I’ll be your friend. What do you want to be called?

Call me spring. How about you?

Spring as in the season, spring? Is your favourite season spring? I’ll take Hayi. But, why did you choose spring?

It was the first thing that came up in my head. Yes, it’s my favourite season.

Mine is autumn.

Lunch break is over soon, Hayi. Better hurry to your lesson. Goodbye.

Bye.

Hanbin scoffed at these text messages. He saved the number, naming it Hayi.

“Well, isn’t this ironic,” the boy whispered. “The things I do for you, hyung.”

Then he spat his cigarette out and made sure to step on it once before heading back inside the building.

. . .

Hayi smiled while she saved the stranger’s number as Spring. Across her sat a tall boy who stared right at her, as if peering at an unusual object. When he noticed that she was looking back at him, his face flushed with redness, and so quickly, he stood up and grabbed his bag. His bag hung loose on his shoulder as he seemed like he was rushing.

“If you don’t hurry you’ll be late, Hayi,” he mumbled in a low voice, before walking away fast.

. . .

cigarette daydreams // you can drive all night looking for the answers in the pouring rain

i've always written in first person, so i attempted writing in third person narrative for this story. it's definitely not perfect, but i'll try harder!^^;;