Worlds Between

Chapter One: The Empty Seat

Seo-yeon had never skipped a class in her life until the spring she turned seventeen.

It started with rain -- the kind of soft April rain that made the cherry blossoms outside Hanguk High School fall like pink snow. She was supposed to be in her third-period literature class, but instead she found herself standing under the covered walkway behind the gymnasium, watching the petals drift across the empty courtyard, her backpack heavy with a math test she hadn't studied for.

That was where she first saw him -- Min-jun, sitting on the low stone wall with his uniform jacket unbuttoned, sketching something in a battered notebook, completely unbothered by the fact that he, too, was supposed to be somewhere else.

"You're going to get caught," she said, more to break the silence than out of real concern.

He looked up, startled, then smiled in a way that made her stomach do something strange and unfamiliar. "So are you."

Neither of them moved.

Chapter Two: Two Worlds

What Seo-yeon didn't know that first afternoon was that the boy with the messy hair and paint-stained fingers was Choi Min-jun, only son of the Choi family -- the family whose name was printed on half the buildings in Gangnam, whose conglomerate owned everything from shipping lines to the phone in her pocket. She only knew he laughed easily and didn't seem to care about the things rich boys were supposed to care about.

What Min-jun didn't know was that the girl with ink-stained sleeves and a secondhand backpack was the daughter of the woman who ran the little cafe three blocks from school -- Sun Blossom Cafe, with its crooked sign and mismatched chairs, where Min-jun's driver sometimes bought him coffee on the mornings his father's meetings ran long and he needed an excuse to be late.

They met again the next week. And the week after that. Skipping became a habit neither of them named out loud -- an unspoken agreement to disappear for one class period and reappear at the old walkway, or the rooftop stairwell nobody used, or eventually, the back booth of Sun Blossom Cafe itself, where Seo-yeon's mother, humming over the espresso machine, had no idea that the quiet, polite boy her daughter kept bringing around was worth more, on paper, than the entire street their cafe sat on.

They talked about everything and nothing. He told her he wanted to be an architect, not a CEO. She told him she wanted to travel to every country that grew a different kind of tea. He drew her portrait in the margins of his notebook, badly, and she laughed so hard she nearly cried. By early summer, something had bloomed between them that felt bigger than either of their small, stolen afternoons.

Chapter Three: The Weight of a Name

It couldn't last, of course. Nothing built on secrecy ever does.

Min-jun's father found the sketchbook first -- found the drawings of a smiling girl with cafe-blossom hairpins, found the receipts from Sun Blossom stuffed between the pages. He said nothing at first, only watched his son more closely, until the day his driver mentioned, almost carelessly, where young Master Choi had really been spending his afternoons.

The confrontation was quiet but absolute. Min-jun was reminded, in his father's calm and terrible voice, of everything the Choi name required of him -- the marriage his family had long assumed he'd make into another powerful house, the reputation that could not be spent on a girl whose mother steamed milk for a living. "You are not being cruel to her by staying away," his father said. "You would only be cruel by staying."

Seo-yeon's mother heard it a different way -- not from wealth, but from worry. A boy like that, she warned gently, comes from a world that will chew up a girl like you and never notice the difference. "I'm not saying stop loving him," she said, wiping down the counter without looking up. "I'm saying be careful how much of yourself you hand over to a story that was never going to be yours to finish."

Chapter Four: The Last Afternoon

They met one final time before the summer truly began, at the old stone wall where it had all started, cherry blossoms long gone, replaced by the green hush of early June.

"I don't want to be somebody's inheritance," Min-jun said, staring at his hands. "I want to be somebody who chose something. I chose you."

"You say that like it's simple," Seo-yeon answered, and her voice didn't shake, though she wanted it to. "But I don't want to spend my life being the reason your family looks at you like you failed them. I don't want to be a scandal in someone else's story."

They didn't fight. That was the strange, aching part of it -- there was no villain in the room, only two seventeen-year-olds who had found something honest in a world built on appearances, and who were both, in their own way, too young and too afraid to fight a war neither of them had started.

"Maybe later," he said. "Maybe when we're not seventeen. When it isn't a scandal. Just -- two people."

"Maybe," she agreed, and let that word be enough, because sometimes maybe is the only kind of promise two people that age are allowed to make.

Epilogue: Petals Return

Seo-yeon still keeps his badly-drawn sketch of her folded in the back of her planner. Min-jun still walks past Sun Blossom Cafe some mornings, slower than he needs to, though he no longer goes in.

Neither of them talks about that spring much. But every April, when the cherry blossoms fall over the courtyard of Hanguk High School, something in both of them looks up -- just for a second -- remembering a boy and a girl who once believed, for one bright season, that love didn't need to check anyone's last name first.

© Rehan Azam,'The Colour of Waiting' An Short story by Rehan Azam , All Rights Reserved.