YOU ARE Shadow in Color

Chapter 4 " The path to friendship

Osh POV.

It was late morning when I finally stepped into the classroom.

Our first subject had been canceled, so technically, I could have come earlier, but why rush? Everyone already knew about the vacant period. Most of them had probably decided to spend their time somewhere else—lounging in the study area beside the senior high canteen, chatting away in clusters, or simply strolling outside to escape the four corners of this room.

When I pushed the door open, the classroom felt almost deserted. Sunlight streamed lazily through the wide windows, hitting the scattered desks like fading spotlights after a play. The quiet was comforting, a rare pause in the constant hum of school life.

That was when I noticed her.

Ye Jean sat near the middle row, her head bent slightly, her hand moving carefully over a sheet of paper. A pencil rested between her fingers, dancing in deliberate strokes.

I walked closer and leaned just enough to see the drawing,of  an unknown person. The sharp feature were already outlined, though his expression looked slightly exaggerated.

Instead of greeting her like any normal classmate would, my first words slipped out as a question. “Sketching?”

She looked up briefly, a little startled, then quickly returned to her paper. “Yeah.”

I sat down to her right. For a while, I didn’t say anything. I just let myself watch.

Her brows furrowed as she focused on shading the cheekbones. A small crease formed on her forehead whenever she pressed too hard. Her lips curled inward when she was unsatisfied, then curved upward whenever the lines came out the way she wanted.

It wasn’t about the sketch. It was about her—the quiet way she filled the silence, the way she poured effort into something that wasn’t even a school requirement.

She suddenly raised the paper, holding it toward me. “Ugly, isn’t it?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.
“Not really,” I managed to say.

“Feels like his mouth is too big,” she added, smiling at her own mistake.

I took another look. She was right—it did look like the wide, exaggerated lips you’d see in caricatures. I nearly laughed, but held it back.

She laughed for the both of us, anyway. The sound was unrestrained, light, genuine. She erased the mouth quickly, the rubber squeaking against the page, then redrew the line with softer strokes. Her laughter lingered in the air like a melody that refused to fade.

When she finished, she studied the sketch again. “Something’s missing.”

I tilted my head. From where I sat, the drawing already looked alive, but I wanted to contribute something. “Maybe add some shadows,” I suggested. “It’ll give the face more depth. Make it feel less flat.”

Her eyes brightened as if I had unlocked a secret she’d forgotten. “You’re right!”

She gripped the pencil again, pressing with more confidence this time.

I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips as I watched her. There was something fragile yet determined in the way she worked, like a beginner rediscovering an old hobby.

But then my mouth betrayed me. “Not like that,” I said, half-laughing. Without waiting, I reached out and gently took the pencil from her hand.

I demonstrated the strokes—lighter touches at first, then gradually building layers to create shadow. She leaned closer, her hair brushing slightly against my arm, her eyes fixed on the pencil’s movement.