Lee Minho

Title: What Was I Made For? [inspired by what was i made for by billie ellish based on a true story 50% of it is] Y/N was sixteen, but she didn’t feel it. She spent her afternoons sketching sunflowers in her school notebook instead of paying attention to trigonometry. She liked pastel socks and songs that made her feel like she was floating. She wore butterfly clips in her hair, even though people whispered it was “childish.” Y/N was trying—desperately—to hold on to some version of herself that felt like sunlight before the world told her to grow up too fast. But lately, it felt like everyone had decided she didn’t fit." Why do you still dress like that?” “You’re too old for that stuff.” “You need to act more mature.” Every comment was like a tiny blade. She tried to laugh it off. Tried to keep dancing barefoot in her room at night. But each time she looked in the mirror, she wondered if they were right. Maybe she was weird. Maybe the world didn’t want her softness. And then came Minho. He wasn’t like the others. He had this stillness in him that made people pay attention without him ever asking them to. He played guitar in the music room after school, fingers tracing strings like they were secrets he didn’t want to let slip. He was seventeen and already felt like someone who knew how to stand in the storm. They met by accident—Y/N dropped her notebook and a page fluttered to his feet. A sunflower, unfinished. He picked it up like it was something sacred. “You drew this?” “Yeah,” she said, bracing for a joke. But he just smiled. “It’s beautiful. You’re not like anyone else, huh?” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And for the first time, that didn’t feel like something to apologize for. They started talking more. In the music room. After class. Through text messages that got longer at night. He would strum soft melodies and ask her what colors they reminded her of. She’d tell him moss green, dusty pink, midnight blue Thats where it began