Chapter 9 - Windowpane

"I am not fine. I know I said I was, but I'm not."  

Suho stared at the glass windowpane next to his study table.  

On his windowsill was an array of potted ornamental plants from his mom's garden. From Aloe Vera, Peace Lily, Lavender, and English Ivy, which Mrs. Lee explained how they cleansed the air he breathed.  

But none of those were creating any difference for him at that moment.  

All framed with a lace curtain, no one will guess the room was his. And no one could tell what he's going through either.  

That wasn't cool at all.  

Of all the people who could see me that day, why has it to be her? Cursing in between breaths. 

Across the street, he has a clear view of his neighbor's window, covered with a cerulean curtain.  

At night, the bright light in the room gave a silhouette of the enigmatic figure, dancing under the moonlight in the soothing song of The Swan Lake.  

In the morning, the curtains were drawn, and the owner grooved to the hit music of the 90s. Ace of Spade, MJ, and Whitney Houston filled the air, awakening every sleeping soul in the neighborhood.  

At times, she'd dressed up as a wizard with a magic wand prancing in the room dancing pretending to be Sabrina, The Teenage Witch. 

Her face plastered in his mind forever.  

"And yet here I am. My eyes lingering in your shadow," Suho lamented, "If only…" Suho stared blankly outside the window. 

Daegu sprung to life as the snow melted away, unveiling the greeneries and fields of herbs and flowers.  

New life sprouted from the dirt, transforming the surrounding palette from white to vibrant colors.  

The dreary sleeping trees extended their green leafy branches filled with little buds of flowers.  

Earthy smell whiffed with the wind as plants break themselves from the ground.  

Birds chirp and bees buzz from one flower to the next creating a relaxing melody. 

Spring is coming. 

Spring carried new energy in Suho's life as he jumped into his daily mundane of school and basketball training.  

All the while keeping it from his old boss -- his mom. He dared not tell her if she wanted to keep walking till he graduates.  

Or, unless he'd want to enlist in the military earlier than usual, the former still scarier from the latter. His busy schedule became his excuse to evade the possibility of crossing Hana's path.  

The last incident was still fresh in his mind. 

Hana was a rainbow he'll never reach.  

He doubted she could even remember him nor noticed his absence.  

Considering the number of guys who'd been offering her ride to and from school. Accords that she had been declining one after another, a little birdie whispered to him. 

Hana Kim had been stealing the thunder since she arrived.  

Some say she's pretentious, while others call her a complete highbrow.  

The girls hated her while the boys hovered around like sniffing dogs. When rejected, they'd spew things against her. 

But Hana remained undaunted, her chin held high. 

Still, for Suho, their one brief encounter told him she's nothing of those mentioned.  

That there's a lot of things about her, no one really knew.  

Beyond the public's prying eyes, she led a carefree life dancing or singing like the world was her stage but for an audience of one. 

One day, Hana was all over her window, redecorating the entire space.  

On either side of her life-sized glass window, she hung 2 airplanes, the paper plane Naeun flew and another toy plane he’s seen somewhere. 

Hana's creative flair sparked the inner artist child in Suho.  

For the first time in six years, he reached out for his worn-out sketchbook and drawing pens.  

He flipped it and saw his old sketches of people close to his heart-- his family and basketball icon Michael Jordan. 

Before he knew it, his hands took a life of its own and drew portrait after portrait of the new apple of his eyes.  

For the next few weeks, Suho secretly sketched portraits in between basketball practice and classes.  

As cherry blossoms come in full bloom as Suho immersed himself in the beauty of those around him. 

One spring weekend, Suho received a beeper message from his mom: 

"Where are you? Come home. I need to go somewhere." 

Luckily, he finished the training. He grabbed his gym bag and hopped on his bike, scurrying to go home.  

The last thing he wanted was for his mom to suspect that he's up to something. He planned to take a bath at home and wash his clothes from his mom's inquiring eyes.  

All dread in sweat, he pulled next to their house, bouncing as he climbed the stairs. 

"Naeun, I am home," Suho called from the foyer, shredding off his sweaty uniform, one item at a time until all that's left was his basketball shorts.  

Shoving his bag to a nearby sofa, he held his sweaty clothes on his left hand, plastic bag on his right, marching towards Naeun. 

"Oppa, Oppa. I am here," Naeun cried out from the dining room, beaming at her brother. 

Suho strode to Naeun's side and attempted to give her a peck on the forehead.  

"Yuck, Oppa. You stink," she whined, smelling the sweaty skin of her brother. 

"Wow!" his mouth opened toying with Naeun's pigtail, slapping his hands every time.  

"Who did your hair?" he asked, knowing that her sister wouldn't want anyone to touch her hair. "I have something for you," he added, swirling the black plastic bag in his hand. 

As he stepped closer, the person seated at the end of the 6-seater dining table stood up, gave a curtsy, "Annyeonghaseyo." Suho leaped, accidentally tossing the plastic bag on the table, carrying some snacks for Naeun.  

Suho ducked to the chair next to Naeun, who was shaking in laughter at her brother's reaction.  

He peeked, gulped, then replied, "annyeong," then made a quick run to the bathroom.  

Curling behind the door, with his ears on the wall, Suho could hear the two girls giggling. He sat on top of the toilet bowl, slapping his face, cringing in embarrassment. 

He peeked behind a small gap between the door, catching a glimpse of the guest.  

But all he saw was her long black hair and slender arms.  

Trapped, Suho turned on the shower to a maximum only to remember that he did not bring a towel nor extra sets of clothes with him.  

"Stupid of me," banging his head to the wall.