The Silent Canvas (Catnipz)

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Minji hurried down the corridor, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her shoulders. As the class president, there was always something to do; whether it was managing student activities or helping the teachers with administrative tasks. Today, it was bringing the attendance sheet to the office. Her steps echoed through the empty hallway, the sound of her shoes clicking against the tiles as she balanced the clipboard in one hand and checked her phone with the other.

She passed by classrooms and the occasional teacher, her mind already racing through the list of things she needed to accomplish after this task. When she turned a corner to head back to her class, her focus was momentarily interrupted by someone coming from the opposite direction. The impact was soft but enough to jolt her forward, and she instinctively took a step back to steady herself.

"Sorry," Minji muttered, looking up.

Before her stood a girl, much shorter than her, with striking features. Her dark eyes seemed to hold a certain stillness; deep, like the night, yet oddly familiar. There was something about her gaze, sharp yet gentle, that reminded Minji of a cat's, quiet and observant.

The girl blinked once, slowly, as if considering the situation before offering a small nod, as if acknowledging the apology without needing words. Minji was about to step around her, but something made her pause. The girl didn't speak, didn't seem to care much about the bump, her focus was elsewhere. It was as if the world around her didn't matter much, and Minji couldn't help but wonder why.

"Are you okay?" Minji asked, her voice softer than she intended, her eyes catching the girl's for a fleeting moment.

The girl didn't respond right away, her gaze drifting down to the floor. She was carrying something; a small, leather sketchbook tucked under her arm, the edges worn from use. Minji could sense the reluctance in her posture, as if this brief encounter was nothing more than a momentary interruption in her quiet, solitary world.

Minji's gaze briefly flickered to the nametag pinned to the girl's shirt. "Kang Haerin," it read in neat letters, but what caught Minji's attention was the small ASL symbol next to the name. It was a subtle mark, easily overlooked by most, but Minji immediately recognized it. The symbol was a clear sign that Haerin was deaf.

A rush of realization hit Minji, and without thinking, she raised her hands, forming the familiar signs she'd learned from her grandfather; apologizing for the bump, her fingers moving fluidly in the air. Her heart raced as she waited, wondering if Haerin would understand.

Haerin's eyes widened, her gaze flickering from Minji's hands to her face. She froze for a moment, as if unsure whether she was seeing things or if someone, finally, was speaking her language. For the briefest of seconds, the world around them seemed to slow. Haerin's fingers curled slightly, the sketchbook in her arms shifting as she took in the unexpected gesture.

Minji hesitated, wondering if she had overstepped, but then Haerin's lips parted, and a soft breath escaped her. There was no immediate response in words, but the look on her face told Minji everything she needed to know. Haerin was surprised—surprised that someone had actually signed to her, not just spoken over her silence, not just treated her as though her deafness was something to be avoided or ignored.

"You know sign language?" Haerin signed, her movements slow at first, but there was a slight curiosity behind her expression. Her fingers wavered in the air as she adjusted to the flow of the conversation, her eyes watching Minji intently.

Minji smiled softly, feeling the warmth of the moment settle between them. "Yeah," she signed back, a simple reply that spoke volumes. "My grandpa's deaf, so I learned it when I was young."

Haerin's expression softened, her gaze flickering with something like relief, like she had finally found a bridge between her quiet world and the one that so often seemed to ignore her. There was something fragile in that look, something that Minji recognized as vulnerability. Haerin had built walls around herself, walls that others couldn't even see, and Minji had just chipped away at them, not with words, but with the quiet, unspoken language of signs.

Haerin signed back, her fingers moving with a soft fluidity. "I'm fine," she signed, her expression unreadable but her movements deliberate. "I should get going."

Minji nodded, though there was a lingering unease in her chest. She could sense that Haerin's reluctance to stay wasn't from discomfort with the interaction, but something deeper. Haerin didn't seem eager to continue the conversation, but there was a certain weight in her eyes, a quiet hesitation that made Minji wonder just how much Haerin kept to herself.

The moment hung between them, neither of them fully ready to let it go, but Minji didn't want to push. "Okay," Minji signed, her fingers gentle in their motion. "If you need anything, I'm around." Her words were simple, but the sincerity behind them made the silence between them feel more like a bridge than a wall.

Haerin gave a small nod, her lips curving into a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. There was something in her gaze; almost like gratitude, mixed with the faintest touch of sadness. Then, with another glance at the floor, she stepped back, her fingers lightly gripping the strap of her bag. She took one last look at Minji before turning away, her footsteps soft and deliberate as she made her way down the hallway.

Minji stood there for a moment, her heart still quietly thrumming in her chest. She watched Haerin disappear around the corner, feeling an odd sense of emptiness that lingered long after she was gone. It was like the brief exchange had opened a door, but Haerin wasn't ready to step through it yet. There was something about her, the way she carried herself with such quiet intensity that intrigued Minji. She didn't know what it was, but Minji had the feeling that there was more to Haerin than anyone realized.

As she made her way back to her own class, the noise and bustle of the hallway felt distant. Her thoughts drifted back to the encounter, the way Haerin had reacted; surprised, unsure, but there was something else beneath the surface. Minji couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something unexpected, something worth discovering. Even if Haerin wasn't ready to let anyone in just yet, Minji knew, somehow, that she wouldn't be able to forget the quiet girl with the cat-like eyes.