Don'ts Of An Arranged Marriage

13. Don't Be Nugget

SHIN

It wasn't fair.

The fate toyed with me, not that it had drizzled it's unyielding lucky charms on me ever since I was a kid. I still wanted it to behave since It already had done its worst. So when I saw Fischer walk in- my prosecutions were more of a reflex and lucidly not the result of a shock. When I shook his hand, which was a bone-crushing message disguised and forwarded through the gesture- he knew to keep his mouth sealed.

But I don't reckon it was as convincing to Lee, since he would would scan us both to see how much of a stranger we were to be enough to believe that we were acquainted in church.

My exclusive empathy towards Fischer was the occasional smile I kept darting his way, reminding him to smile and quit acting so sloppy. He sat there as if I he swallowed a lemon and had it struck up his throat. sad and bitter.

I am sorry Fischer. But I have my reasons.

Fischer and I were the quietest among us four, Fischer's was understandable- mine was a habit. But to see the face of a celebrity that I often came across as I flipped through the glossy pages of Harper Bazar or rolling stone affected me more than it should. Probably because it took me a mere minute to put the two and two together.

He was the director. He was the one.

And he was looking at Lee with such adoration and smile that it made me sick. Lee was equally smitten to see his friend there that he has probably has forgotten to check me out since an hour. I was not a fool- I know he had been up onto it since this morning. Can't blame him either- cause I was no better.

His thoughts have been flailing my mind ever since last night- I even dreamt of him seated on a Ferrari in traditional hanbok with paparazzi clicking his pictures as he happily posed. He was famous- I searched for him before I went to bed. I wasn't left disappointed- he looked ravishing in his racing gears, those images popped up sooner than the articles. I had scrolled through it for an unnecessary fifteen minutes till he walked out of the washroom. His hair damp from the shower as he towel-dried his hair.

Trained in his reflection, he styled his strands for bed. In an automatism I found my fingers combing my own tress. Who was I attempting to impress? For the sake of sanity, I wake up with a bird's nest. Every. Single. Day.

But when you had a specimen like a Lee around, you unconsciously froth to take care of one's own appearance. Today I realized Lee had a perfect back, broad and lean. His arms get a slight rise of veins when he is stressing a hold onto something. His gaze is always bold on you and he never, like ever shy's away from staring. He doesn't glance- he stares. Hard and impulsive.

Also, he got the perfect set of abs to end his beauty saga. How do I know? He apparently had done a session of a photo shoot for his marshalls campaign. It was for Calvin Klein's jeans- he only wore jeans in that. The search educated me more than what I had bargained for.

So I had to purchase my long-listed, and awaited goldfish the next morning. I haven't named her yet, but she keeps fermenting me. I desire to be like her, a careless freak In a bowl moving in circles, but happy.

How do I presume for her to be happy?

I don't know- I plainly assume it. Isn't how we all interpret things and make them work?

If one looks good.

They must feel good.

It's how I go through my life. Providing them a false variation of me. It works.