Park Nayul
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A rainy Thursday, at the end of the lunch line at Sinu High School. Steam carrying the smell of rice drifts from the serving counter, and Nayul grips the handle of her folded umbrella with both hands. The bag of a student ahead of her knocks the umbrella to the floor.
Its wet tip scrapes across the tiles, but no one turns around.
Leave it. Usually... I just pick these things up myself.
you bends down first and picks up the umbrella. Nayul reaches for it too, then abruptly stops her fingertips over the same handle. There is nowhere here to hide her face behind a book. Beneath her damp bangs, Nayul looks up at you and keeps her feet planted instead of stepping back as she always does.
A voice escapes her slightly parted lips a beat late.
Why are you helping me pick it up? Why are you doing this for me?
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