The card sits on the table like it knows something I don't.
It's white and stiff and smells like new paper. The letters are black and straight. Director Han Soojin. Under it, a phone number. Under that, nothing else. No pictures. No shiny parts. Just his name, calm and quiet.
I sit in my chair and swing my legs. My heels knock the table leg by accident. I stop them with my toes and hold still.
Mom is making soup.
The pot lid rattles a little. Dad is standing by the sink, washing apples even though we already washed them earlier. My little brother is on the floor with his cars, pushing them into each other and making crash sounds with his mouth.
No one is talking about the card.
I keep looking at it.
The house feels the same as always. The clock ticks. The refrigerator hums. The window is open a little, and I can hear someone walking a dog outside. But the air feels stretched, like when you pull a rubber band and don't let go yet.
I touch the edge of the card with one finger. It's smooth. It doesn't bite.
Mom turns off the stove. "Dinner in five minutes." She says.
"Okay." Dad answers.
I nod too, even though no one asked me.
I think about the stage again. The way the lights made my eyes warm. The way the quiet felt when everyone stopped moving at once. I think about the man's eyes. And how they didn't slide away.
The card stays where it is.
After dinner, Mom clears the dishes more slowly than usual. Dad dries them slower, too. My brother gets sleepy and climbs into Mom's lap. She strokes his hair until his eyes close.
"Seojun." Dad says.
I look up right away.
"Come sit." He says, pointing to the couch.
I wipe my hands on my pants and go. I sit on the edge like I do when I'm waiting for instructions. Mom sits on the other side with my brother still half-asleep. Dad sits across from me, elbows on his knees.
The card is on the coffee table between us.
"We got a call today." Mom says.
I nod. I already know. "Director Han called. He wants to invite you to an audition." Dad says. I nod again. My chest feels tight and loose at the same time. "What's an audition?" My brother asks, eyes still closed.
Mom smiles. "It's like when Seojun acted at school, but in front of cameras."
"Oh." He says, and falls asleep again. Dad looks at me. "Do you know what that means?" I think about it. I think about cameras. About standing still and being loud in the right places. About people watching and deciding things without clapping.
"It means I have to do it again." I say. Mom tilts her head. "Do you want to?"
"Yes. I think so." I say. I don't wait.
Dad doesn't smile. He doesn't frown either. He just listens.
"This wouldn't be like school. There would be adults telling you what to do. There would be waiting. There would be days when you don't get chosen." He says.
I imagine waiting. Sitting on a chair. Watching other kids. I imagine not being chosen. I imagine going home anyway. "That's okay." I say. Mom studies my face. "Why?" I shrug. It's hard to explain. "Because I like it. I like it when people look." I say.
She doesn't look shocked. She looks thoughtful.
"Being looked at isn't always kind." She says gently.
"I know. But it's still okay." I say. I think of the kids who laughed at the wrong parts. Dad exhales slowly. "You're very sure." I look at the card. "I'm not scared." I say. Then I add, because it feels important, "I don't think."
Silence settles between us. Not heavy. Just careful.
Mom reaches out and turns the card so it faces her. "If we do this, we do it together. You don't go anywhere alone. If you don't like it, we stop." She says.
"Okay." I say.
"If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell us. Immediately." Dad says. "I will." I say. They look at each other. They have a conversation without words. I watch their faces the way I watch actors on TV when something changes.
Mom nods once.
Dad picks up the card.
"We'll go to the audition." He says. Something clicks inside me. Like a light turning on in a room I didn't know was there. I don't cheer. I don't jump. I just breathe in and out, slow, the way I do before I say my first line.
—
The building is bigger than my school.
It's gray and tall and has glass doors that slide open by themselves. When they do, cold air comes out and makes my arms prickle. The floor inside is shiny enough to see my shoes in it.
I walk carefully so I don't slip.
Dad holds my backpack. Mom holds my hand. The straps of my good shirt feel stiff against my shoulders. Mom ironed it twice. The collar scratches my neck a little, but I don't complain. We tell our names to the woman at the desk. She smiles and points down a hallway.
"Second door on the left." She says.
The hallway smells like coffee and something sweet. The walls have pictures on them. Posters. People with big names and serious faces. I look at them as we walk.
"That one was famous." Dad whispers, pointing to a man I recognize from TV.
I nod. I wonder if he sat where I'm going to sit.
The waiting room has chairs lined up against the wall. Other kids are there. Some are younger than me. Some older. Some look bored. Some look nervous. One boy is practicing lines under his breath. A girl is stretching her arms.
I sit down and put my feet flat on the floor as Dad taught me. I rest my hands on my knees. I don't fidget.
A woman with a clipboard calls names. Each time, a kid stands up and goes through a door. The door closes softly behind them.
I listen.
I watch.
I learn where the light comes from when the door opens. I see the camera inside for just a second. Black. Round. Watching.
My name gets called.
"Han Seojun."
I stand up. My legs feel light. I bow a little to the woman with the clipboard because that feels right. Mom squeezes my shoulder once. Dad nods. I walk to the door.
Inside, the room is quiet. Not empty, quiet. Working quiet. There's a camera on a tripod. A man adjusts it. Another person sits behind a table with papers. Director Han is there too, standing off to the side.
He sees me and smiles, small.
"Hello again." He says. "Hello." I say, and bow. He gestures to a mark on the floor. "Stand there." I do. The tape is green this time.
"Just relax. We'll do something simple." He says. He tells me what to do. It's a short scene. No broom this time. Just me. I nod while he explains. I don't interrupt. "Ready?" He asks. "Yes." I say.
The camera turns on. I can feel it. It's like a little pull on my face.
I adjust my shoulders. I soften my eyes. I remember the pause.
I start. I don't think about my parents watching from behind. I don't think about the other kids. I think about the line. About who I am in this moment. When it's over, there's a pause. A good one.
"Thank you." Director Han says.
I bow again.
Outside, Mom lets out a breath she's been holding. Dad smiles a little. "How was it?" Mom asks. "Good." I say. On the way home, the city looks different. Bigger. Closer.
I press my forehead to the window and watch the reflections slide over my face. I look at myself looking back. I don't know what will happen next.
But I know this.
When the light turns on, I'm ready to step forward.