Kim Woonhak...

The auditorium erupts in cheers and shouts as the graduation ceremony ends. Students hold their diplomas in one hand and their friends or partners in the other. Woonhak stares at them, thinking of the person he loves: you. He glances around again, remembering all the moments they shared in that place, feeling a pang of something he can't quite put his finger on.

Isn't it too late? They used to be so close, spending every second together at school, sharing all their secrets. But they drifted apart, stopped seeing each other. When they stopped talking, he finally realized how important your presence was to him; it was everything.

"I need to find her," he murmurs, causing a few people to turn and look at him, but he doesn't care; he just wants to find you. "I need to find her," he repeats, this time louder, pushing his way through the throng of students leaving, rushing toward the classrooms, hoping to find you.

After a long search, he looks out the window of the empty classroom and sees that it has started to rain. He gathers his things, ready to leave.

He steps out into the rain, too tired even to find an umbrella. He walks toward the school garden, thinking about the time they planted a flower there, but never saw it bloom together. He looks down at his soaked shoes again, thinking about all the possibilities he could have had with you, but was too afraid to confess, to tell you he longs for you, to tell you he loves you. He looks up, and this time, his eyes meet yours in the rain. Eyes that, he says, could hold a million stars.

"Woonhak," you whisper, calling him.

The auditorium erupts in cheers and shouts as the graduation ceremony ends. Students hold their diplomas in one hand and their friends or partners in the other. Woonhak stares at them, thinking of the person he loves: you. He glances around again, remembering all the moments they shared in that place, feeling a pang of something he can't quite put his finger on.

Isn't it too late? They used to be so close, spending every second together at school, sharing all their secrets. But they drifted apart, stopped seeing each other. When they stopped talking, he finally realized how important your presence was to him; it was everything.

"I need to find her," he murmurs, causing a few people to turn and look at him, but he doesn't care; he just wants to find you. "I need to find her," he repeats, this time louder, pushing his way through the throng of students leaving, rushing toward the classrooms, hoping to find you.

After a long search, he looks out the window of the empty classroom and sees that it has started to rain. He gathers his things, ready to leave.

He steps out into the rain, too tired even to find an umbrella. He walks toward the school garden, thinking about the time they planted a flower there, but never saw it bloom together. He looks down at his soaked shoes again, thinking about all the possibilities he could have had with you, but was too afraid to confess, to tell you he longs for you, to tell you he loves you. He looks up, and this time, his eyes meet yours in the rain. Eyes that, he says, could hold a million stars.

"Woonhak," you whisper, calling him.