WHISPERS OF FIRST LOVE _ BOOK 1

Saturday mornings in Lia's world used to be quiet. A cup of warm tea. A window cracked just enough to let in a breeze. And, most importantly—her sketchpad.

This Saturday, however, was different.

Because Su Rina had invited her out.

"Girls' day," she'd texted with three pink heart emojis and a selfie of her outfit already picked out.

Lia wasn't used to this kind of attention from friends. But Rina had a way of making people feel like they belonged in her orbit.

So for the first time in months, Lia left the house without her headphones, choosing a soft pastel sweater and a flowy skirt that made her feel—if not confident—at least seen.

They met at a small café just outside campus grounds. It was tucked behind a bookstore, all warm wood and tiny potted plants with classical music playing faintly in the background.

"You're early," Rina said, sipping her iced chocolate and raising a brow playfully.

"So are you."

"I had to make sure I looked cute. Who knows, maybe Kai Yoon passes by this street every Saturday." She smirked.

Lia nearly choked on her water. "Why would he be here?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Rina leaned closer. "Listen, I don't know what's going on between you two, but something is. He doesn't talk to anyone the way he talks to you."

Lia looked down at her cup. "He doesn't really talk to me."

"Oh, sweetie. That's his version of shouting affection."

Lia smiled softly but said nothing.

Rina changed the subject then, telling stories about her middle school crushes and failed dance auditions. And for a while, Lia forgot about everything else. About being new. About Kai. About the ache of not being understood.

It was just nice… to laugh.

—

That afternoon, Lia wandered into the bookstore alone while Rina answered a phone call outside. The smell of paper and ink surrounded her like an embrace, and she let her fingers trail along the spines of books she didn't know she wanted.

She found a corner shelf with journals and sketchbooks and was flipping through one when a voice behind her made her jump.

"You're everywhere, aren't you?"

She turned.

Kai Yoon stood there, dressed in a plain hoodie and dark jeans. His hair was slightly tousled, and there was no school badge on his chest. Just… Kai. Without the student council shield. Without the weight.

Her heart stumbled.

"You're here too?" she asked.

"I come here sometimes," he said. "It's quiet."

Lia looked around. "I like it too."

He reached for a book on the same shelf—his hand grazing the one she had just touched. They both paused. The silence between them felt heavier than before. Like it carried things they hadn't said.

She held up the sketchbook. "I was thinking of getting this."

Kai tilted his head slightly. "You're almost done with your current one, aren't you?"

She blinked. "How do you know that?"

"I saw the edges curling. And you've been flipping near the back."

A pause.

"You really do pay attention," she whispered.

He looked at her then—really looked—and for a second, there was something in his eyes that made her feel like the world had slowed down.

"I notice quiet things," he said.

Neither of them moved.

Then Rina's voice echoed from the front of the store. "Lia! I found a pastry shop next door!"

Lia turned, startled. "I—I have to go."

Kai nodded, stepping back. "See you Monday."

She gave a small wave and hurried away, heart racing—not from running, but from the feeling that maybe she had just seen another side of him.

—

That night, she opened her old sketchpad and drew him.

Not from memory this time.

But from that moment in the bookstore.

Soft hair, half-shadowed expression, a boy surrounded by silence and paper.

And the caption she wrote under the page?

"The boy who notices quiet things."

—

Monday arrived, and the art room was unusually busy. The festival prep had officially begun, and students were rushing to finish props and finalize sketches. Lia walked in with her new sketchpad tucked under her arm.

Kai was already there, sleeves rolled up, giving quiet instructions to the team. He barely glanced at her as she entered, but something in his posture changed. A slight straightening. A subtle awareness.

She sat near him, unspoken routine falling into place. They worked in tandem—her sketches, his planning, soft brushes clinking against jars of water. And though no words passed between them for almost an hour, it felt like they'd spoken volumes.

At one point, a paintbrush rolled across the table and dropped to the floor.

Kai reached to grab it. So did she.

Their fingers brushed again.

This time, he didn't pull back.

Neither did she.

He handed it to her slowly, eyes lingering.

"You changed your sketchpad," he said.

Lia nodded. "Yeah."

"You always name your drawings?"

"Sometimes," she replied. "Depends on what they make me feel."

He nodded once, thoughtful.

Then, as he turned away, he said, barely audible—

"Do I have a name yet?"

Lia looked at his back, heart thundering.

She didn't answer out loud.

But inside, her chest whispered it over and over.

The boy who notices quiet things.