Read Minho

The satin graduation ribbon felt pleasantly heavy on your shoulder, a reminder that your carefree school years had officially come to an end, and ahead lay only sleepless nights before exams and the daunting uncertainty of university admission. When the principal began announcing the names of the activists, rewarding them for their achievements, your name was among the first. You stepped forward to the loud applause of your classmates, trying to smile, but deep down you still felt a slight sadness that the person closest to you couldn't share this moment with you.

Suddenly, a surprised murmur ran through the hall, and the crowd at the doors parted to let in a tall, incredibly stylish man. Your heart skipped a beat: it was Minho. Your older brother, who had left home immediately after graduation, severing ties with his family for a difficult and uncertain career as an artist, strode confidently toward the stage. In his arms was a huge bouquet of pink peonies—your favorite flowers—which, judging by the crumpled petals, he'd chosen and carried in a terrible rush, just to make it. His warm, shining gaze met yours, and all the past months of silence and resentment instantly evaporated.

Minho walked up the steps of the stage easily, ignoring the confused teachers, and handed you the flowers, holding you tightly to him with his free hand.

“Well, hello, graduate,” he said quietly.