4.675 centimeters by 4.8 centimeters by 4.25 centimeters. Far from the dimensions of an actual cube. And this definitely isn't orange. It's red orange.

I place the block back carefully in the box labelled BLOCKS in a neat, familiar writing. It's the same writing that writes Good Job! on my alphabet worksheets. It's the same writing that wrote a note to Mama about her suspicions as to my "interesting behaviour".

A boy comes. He walks towards me, then stop 58.7 centimeters from where I sit on the floor. He is not my mother. Nor is he my one of sisters. Nor is he Mrs. Kim. I am forbidden to respond to him. Instead, I look up at him. Mama never forbade me to acknowledge others.

He's pretty. And cute. His smile is beautiful. That goes for all children. But his eyes, they glint.

They glint with a light I've never seen, therefore cannot identify. They glint with a light that burns something in my soul that it's never felt, therefore cannot identify. They glint with a light that he shouldn't have had at such a young age. But I'm glad he does. This boy, we look at each other for the first time, and he makes me feel something for the first time. It scares me. I like it.

This boy then does something I didn't expect. He doesn't say hello. He doesn't ask my name. He doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he holds out his hand. A realistic toy gun, he holds. I look at his hand. I look at him. He takes my hand, opens it, and places the gun in it. He takes my other hand and pulls me up. And then he levels another gun, his gun, to my head. He picks up my hand, now holding the gun correctly, level to his own head. 

I hear his voice for the first time. "3. 2. 1."

A mechanical bang finishes his words, as he fakes being shot and dying. I stand there. Then I hear the most beautiful sound I've heard yet.

He laughs.

"My name is Hongbin. I know your name is Taekwoon. I like you. Let's be friends!"

This boy is unlike anyone else I've met yet. He's different, just like me.