Bruises and Umbrellas

Eve entered the classroom early the next morning, gripping Han Jin’s umbrella like it was some kind of contraband. She had debated all night whether to bring it back or pretend it never happened. But leaving it at home felt too much like pretending he hadn’t walked her home in the rain… like pretending he didn’t see her.

The umbrella rested on her desk now, folded neatly, a silent symbol of something she didn’t quite understand.

She felt the eyes on her before she heard the whispers.

“Is that his umbrella?”

“No way. What’s going on between them?”

“She probably begged for it.”

Eve sat straighter, but her cheeks burned. She hated this attention—loud, curious, cruel. But she hated how much she wanted to care even more.

When Han Jin finally walked in, ten minutes late, the classroom fell into its usual hush.

But something was different.

His eyes were duller. His walk slower. His jaw clenched tighter than usual. He dropped into the seat behind her without saying a word.

Eve turned slightly. That’s when she saw it.

A dark bruise bloomed along the sharp line of his jaw—just beneath his ear. It wasn’t there yesterday.

Her breath caught.

“Han Jin,” she whispered, too softly for anyone else to hear. “What happened to your face?”

He looked at her, annoyed. Then away. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

She blinked, stunned. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he muttered, tapping his pencil rhythmically against the desk. “You’ll get used to it.”

She turned away, but the image of the bruise clung to her thoughts for the rest of class.

At lunch, she didn’t go to the library. Instead, her feet wandered up the side staircase she’d once taken by accident. The rooftop.

It was cloudy today, the sky pale and brooding. She stepped out and found Han Jin already there, leaning against the railing with his eyes closed. His blazer was off, sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie loose. There was a tiredness about him that made him look older than seventeen.

“You followed me,” he said without opening his eyes.

“This isn’t your rooftop,” she replied.

His lips curved slightly. “Did you bring the umbrella just to throw it in my face?”

She walked over and placed it beside him on the concrete ledge. “I brought it back because it’s not mine.”

“You kept it clean.”

“I’m not a monster.”

He finally opened his eyes. “No. You’re not.”

A long silence passed.

“Does it happen often?” she asked quietly. “The bruise?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, without looking at her, he said, “Sometimes people take out their anger on what’s closest. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” she said.