It has been a full fifteen years.

That immature and clumsy child has grown into a mature adult before I knew it. The tiny child who used to follow me around calling me 'Ahjussi,' the little one who didn't even reach my knees, has grown tall enough to reach my chest.

The way you look at me with a smile hasn't changed since you were young.

The way your brow furrows slightly whenever I still call you 'Kiddo' instead of your name, and the way you grumble with a pouty face saying you're all grown up now—at some point, it all started to feel lovely.

What changed was the way I looked at you.

You, who used to hover around me carrying the scent of flowers, started to look like a person, not just a child.

I wanted to brush my rough, clumsy hands over your eyes as you looked straight at me, and I wanted to carefully touch your soft, clear cheeks.

And on those lips that curve so beautifully when you smile, I wanted to press a kiss, pouring in all the feelings and desires I couldn't bring myself to speak.

You, who wanted to go on a picnic every spring with an excited face; you, who wanted to see the sea every summer; you, who brought armfuls of maple leaves every autumn to roast sweet potatoes; you, who held out mittens to build a snowman every winter when the snow piled up.

I spent fifteen seasons with you like that, and eventually, I fell in love with you.