The sun was already slanting through the curtains when I woke. It made stripes on the floor, thin and bright, and I could see the dust floating in the light like tiny golden sparks. I stayed lying there for a moment, staring, counting the lines.
One…two…three…four.
They moved when I breathed.
Mom said I had to get up, but I didn't. I watched the stripes shift across my socks. The stripes made me feel small and safe, like I was in my own world. Then Mom's voice came again, louder this time.
"Kang Junseo, it's time."
I slid off the bed, careful not to wake the cat, and tiptoed to the bathroom.
The tiles were cold under my feet. I washed my face, the water feeling sharp and awake on my skin, and Mom waited outside the door, smiling. She always smiles like she knows something I don't.
"Are you ready?" She asked.
I nodded, though I wasn't sure what "ready" really meant. I put on the clothes she picked out, a soft shirt, blue, with tiny stars, and jeans that felt tight in the knees. I tugged at them until they were right.
My fingers were small, and sometimes they got stuck in buttons or zippers.
Dad was in the kitchen, pouring juice. The orange light made the liquid glow, and I watched it swirl in the glass. I drank a little, trying not to spill, and felt the cool stickiness on my tongue.
Mom bent down. "Don't forget to smile for them." She said. I nodded again. Smiling was hard sometimes. I could do it when someone told me, but it didn't always feel like it came from inside.
—
The car smelled like leather and faint perfume. I leaned against the window and watched the city go by. Cars honked, people moved fast on the sidewalks, and the lights on the buildings blinked like tiny stars, the same as on my shirt.
"Are you excited?" Dad asked, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
I didn't answer. Excited didn't feel like one thing. It felt like a fluttering in my chest, a tickle on my stomach. Sometimes it felt like nervous too.
Mom reached back and patted my shoulder. "You'll do fine." She said.
I wanted to believe her, but I wasn't sure how.
—
The studio was big.
Too big.
I stopped at the doors and looked up. Lights hung from the ceiling, shining down like little suns. People moved in every direction, papers in hands, phones in ears, voices low and quick. I held Mom's hand tight, because it felt like I might float away if I let go.
Inside, it smelled like coffee and something sharp—maybe the floor polish. The carpet was soft under my shoes. Staff moved past, nodding, not stopping.
A man with glasses walked over, holding papers. He smiled, but it wasn't like Mom's smile—it was sharper, like it had rules.
"Junseo, right?" The man asked. His voice was low and careful.
I nodded, gripping Mom's hand a little tighter.
He handed me a folder. Inside were papers with lots of words I didn't know. I touched the edges with my small fingers. They were smooth and cold. Dad explained a little, pointing to the lines, but I only heard some words.
"Contract…time…work…money…trust…"
My stomach fluttered again. I didn't know exactly what it all meant, but I felt the weight of it, heavy and strange.
The man smiled again. "We'll take care of you, Junseo. Don't worry." I nodded again. I didn't know if I should say anything else. Mom and Dad signed papers, their pens moving fast. I watched the black ink slide across the page.
It made lines that wouldn't come off. I wondered if my name, written there, would stick forever too. I felt a little nervous and a little proud at the same time.
The man folded the papers neatly, put them in an envelope, and looked at me. "Congratulations." He said.
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded, trying to keep my hands still. My fingers itched.
Then we walked to the lobby. The lights were bright, but I didn't try to count them this time. My stomach still tickled. Mom's hand was warm. Dad's eyes were steady on me, calm like they always were.
I tried to remember what he looked like when he smiled quietly, in the morning, when I wasn't being watched. It made me feel safe.
We went outside.
The sun was lower now, orange and soft. The car waited. I leaned my forehead against the window. The city moved past slowly, then fast, then slow again.
I tried to think about what had happened inside, about the papers, the man with glasses, the big room. I wanted to understand it, but I only felt the flutter in my chest, the tickle in my stomach, and the strange, tight feeling in my hands.
In the car, I tried to tell myself it wasn't scary. I tried to tell myself it was like playing a new game. But the city passed in blurs of light, and I could feel my small fingers curling and uncurling, restless.
Mom reached back from the front seat. "Junseo, do you like it?"
I thought about the papers, the lights, the people, the lines of ink. I wasn't sure I liked it. I wasn't sure I didn't. "I think…maybe." I said, small.
Mom smiled. She always smiled like she knew I would figure it out later. Dad nodded at me in the mirror. "It's just the first day. We'll take it slow." He said.
I leaned back in the seat, quiet, watching the city lights turn orange and pink as the sun went down. My small hand pressed against the window. The world felt too big, and I felt too small. But maybe that was okay.
Tomorrow, I am going back.
And maybe, I thought quietly, maybe I would like it.