WHISPERS OF FIRST LOVE _ BOOK 1

The next morning came with soft rain tapping against the windows of Lia's small bedroom. She pulled the covers tighter around her and stared at the ceiling for a while before getting up. It was only her second day at Crescent High, and yet... it didn't feel as terrifying as yesterday.

Maybe it was because of Rina. Maybe it was because no one had laughed at her.

Or maybe—just maybe—it had something to do with him.

She shook the thought from her head and got ready.

By the time she arrived at school, the rain had stopped. The courtyard was quieter, and students walked briskly under umbrellas and jackets. Lia entered the hallway and made her way to her locker, where a pleasant surprise waited for her.

Her sketchpad. Right where she had left it.

But… she could've sworn she hadn't noticed it fall yesterday. A small note was wedged beneath it—neatly folded and barely noticeable. She unfolded it with curiosity.

"You dropped this. You should be more careful with things that mean something to you."

There was no name. No signature. Just that.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the note, heart skipping a beat. Who would say something like that?

She glanced around the hallway, but it was already filling up. Whoever it was, they didn't want to be known.

Still, she had a strange feeling she knew who it was.

—

Later that day, Lia was summoned to the student council room. At first, she panicked—had she broken some unknown school rule already?

When she arrived, she found a teacher standing with a few other students. Papers were stacked on a long wooden table, and colorful banners were draped on the side.

"You're Lia Chen, right?" the teacher asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"We heard you're very good at sketching. Rina Han submitted your name for the cultural festival design committee. We need artistic students to help with props, posters, and backdrops."

Lia blinked, caught off guard. "She did?"

Rina, seated in the corner with a sheepish grin, gave a little wave.

The teacher smiled. "You're not obligated, but we could use someone with your talent. And you'd get bonus points for extracurricular participation."

Lia hesitated. She didn't like attention. But this… this was about art.

"I'd like to help," she said quietly.

"Great. Then you'll join the design team—along with our head prefect, Kai Yoon. He oversees every department."

Her heart skipped again.

"Kai?" she repeated.

"Yes. He's very efficient. You two will work closely."

Lia didn't know what to say.

Rina, on the other hand, was trying (and failing) to contain her excitement in the corner.

—

That afternoon, Lia arrived at the art room where the design team met. Inside were two other students and… him.

Kai Yoon stood near the large window, sorting through papers and sketches with calm precision. His hair was slightly messy, his sleeves rolled up, and he looked like he belonged in a drama series, not a high school.

He didn't glance up when she entered.

Lia walked quietly toward the desk, unsure if she should say something. The silence stretched thin—until he finally looked up.

"You're here."

She nodded. "I… I didn't know you were part of the design committee."

"I'm not," he said. "I just supervise the project."

Of course. That made more sense.

She took a seat beside the paints and brushes. For a while, they worked in silence. Kai was surprisingly organized—each sketch was labeled, each task divided. Lia started working on a poster design, carefully outlining the characters for the festival's name in soft pencil.

"You draw with a lot of pressure," he said after a moment.

She looked up. "What?"

He gestured toward her fingers. "You press too hard. You'll tire your wrist. Try letting the lines breathe."

Lia blinked. Was he giving her advice?

She tried softening her strokes. "Like this?"

"Almost."

Kai reached across and took the pencil for a second, his hand brushing hers unintentionally. His touch was cool, steady, and precise as he demonstrated a line.

Lia stared at the movement of his hand—the ease, the elegance.

"Like that," he said, placing the pencil gently beside her fingers.

Their eyes met. For a second, the air between them shifted.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded once and went back to sorting brushes.

A few minutes later, as she was finishing up the outline, she glanced at him again. He was staring at the glass window—not out of it, but at the reflection it cast.

And in that reflection, she was sketching.

Her heart paused.

Was he watching her?

She quickly looked away.

—

By the time the session ended, Lia packed her bag and stood. Kai was still putting away supplies.

"Thanks for helping me earlier," she said quietly.

He looked up. His expression was unreadable.

"Don't mention it."

There was something in his tone—something gentle hidden beneath the cold. Like the first warm gust of wind after a long winter.

She turned to leave, and just before she stepped out of the room, she heard him speak.

"Lia."

She paused.

He didn't say anything else for a second. Then, softly:

"Your art… It says more than you do."

She blinked, unsure how to respond.

So she just nodded and left—her heartbeat fluttering like petals in the wind.