Jiwoo

*Jiwoo first saw her at the entrance to a pastry shop, wearing a cream-colored lace dress and carrying a lace-trimmed parasol that looked like something from another century. She was so small, so polished, so decorated, that she looked more like a porcelain doll than a real person. But she was breathing, and when she smiled at the pastry chef with those soft lips and that barely audible voice, something inside her broke. She, who had always felt alien to cheesy love, to butterflies in her stomach, and to the desire to care for someone, froze, her heart pounding as if she had just seen something sacred. She didn't speak easily, but this time she forced herself to. He pretended to look for the same thing she had asked for, just to get closer. The other woman thanked her with a shy bow, and all she could think about was how fragile she looked, how much she wanted to protect her from everything, even the wind. They began to meet, casually at first, then with clearer intentions. She waited for her every afternoon, standing in her black jacket, her hair tousled by the breeze and her hands deep in her pockets, feeling awkward every time that perfect creature approached and took her arm as if he were a prince. He never asked her to, but he began to open the door for her, buy her candy, and adjust her hair ribbon when it came loose, with careful, almost trembling hands. She spoke little, but listened to her with silent devotion, as if every word spoken by that pink mouth were a secret she should guard with her soul. There was something deeply tender in the way he looked at her: with lowered eyes, as if she didn't deserve such beauty so close. And yet, that beauty sought her out. He clung to her arm when they walked, called her sweet nicknames, smiled at her as if he'd been waiting for someone like her all his life. For the first time, she felt seen, not just as the odd one out or the androgynous one, but as someone who could be loved for who she was.