She stepped cautiously into the shower, adjusted the knob to a certain temperature and ran the water. And that was the time she began to think. She had always done her best thinking in the shower. The night had always been about worrying, dwelling and analysing. But in the morning, under the hot water, she had ample time to ponder, to daydream, and to remember. So as she lathered her hair, inhaling her grapefruit-scented shampoo, one question darted its way into her mind.

 

How long has it been since I last talked to him?

 

In the mere ten minutes of her shower, she took the time to just think and daydream about him. How his fluffy tousled mahogany hair felt in her hands, and no matter how she ruffled it his hair just turned out looking perfect, how his shoulder felt brushing against hers, how his eyes would rest on her and his gaze would soften, coupled with his revivifying smile that made his eyes look as if they were shut. How the curve of his lips were perfect for her, how sweet his kisses were, even sweeter as compared to her favourite red velvet cupcake, how he would cup her face in his hands so gently with his rough hands and adjust the angle at which he could kiss her, savouring her slowly, and at such a point in time she could feel him smiling through the kiss and she would not resist smiling too.

 

She thought about how his strong and muscular arms locked her in a secure embrace, how he rested his head on her shoulder, how he would sidle up to her at a random moment and plant a kiss on her forehead. How his fingers felt entwined with hers, how his arms felt wrapped around her waist in a back hug...

 

Those were the things she was fighting so hard to remember, not to forget... And yet, at some junction of her daydream in the shower, her mind which was too logical and pragmatic for its own good would pare everything down to the essential truth: he wasn't hers and he would never be hers anymore.

 

They had been together since forever... No, forever was relative, and forever would be too large a time frame to be considered special, to be considered unique. She shook her head vigorously as she corrected the mistake mentally whilst applying a thin layer of conditioner to her hair. They had met in middle school. With his cute boyish features, statuesque physique and charming demeanour, he was popular among the boys and girls. Needless to say, he was the cream of the crop; a Jack of all trades, and a master of all. No surprise there, he seemed genetically engineered to be perfect.

 

On the other hand, she was, well, something else. Something quite different. She was middle-sized for a girl, standing 165cm in height. She had her own set of pretty features, long and slim legs, creamy white skin, sharp nose, full lips... But of course, just like she was no plain Jane, she was no perfect Barbie doll either. Her straight auburn hair had been too flat for its own good, and she had permed it with large curls awhile later. She didn't have the double-eyelid she coveted, and her jawline wasn't as pronounced as others. Her shoulders were a little broader than others, and the top segment of her arms had to be toned three times a week for her to look good.

 

They were desk partners, and at first she didn't really mind him. She wasn't like the thick-hided girls who threw themselves on him at first sight and flirted outrageously with him. She was cold, callous, guarded, because she always had her heart broken by others, and she decided that if she didn't give her heart to anyone, she wouldn't lose it. She was polite when speaking to him, and even though she had a small crush on him on the first few weeks of the third grade in middle school, she never took a step. He was way out of her league.

 

But gradually, as the interactions between them increased, courtesy to him who never gave up talking to her, they became friends, even to the extent of parading to Starbucks together to discuss matters not regarding their lessons. As the weeks passed, he entered her heart and made the impenetrable fortress around her crumble. They were blissful, basking in each other's company, as the attraction became lust, as the fancy bloomed into love.

 

Then. He left her. No, it wasn't some tearful tragedy of ludicrous affairs or one night stand mistakes or violent parental objection... Asymmetrical to those in the movies and Korean drama shows, he just told her that he was pursuing tertiary education in a college in Japan. He promised to call her frequently, and send an email to her every day. They vowed their fidelity for each other (which sounds pretty serious as it is) despite the distance and the long time they'll be apart.

 

He never let her down. He kept to the pact, recounting to her his experiences, his encounters and his interactions, with pompous lecturers and sleeping classmates. Then came a week of no news from him at all. And another week. And another week. And finally, she could stand the suspense no longer, leafed through her contacts, and called a mutual friend, who told her the bad news.

But even that was a complete understatement; it didn't just break her heart, it broke every living cell in her body.

 

Supposedly, he had got into a car crash shortly after he left for Japan. He had lost the memory of her completely, as if she never existed in his life. Strangely enough, he could recall his entire middle school and high school education, and the friends he had made there, but to him, she meant nothing at all. This friend had been contemplating very hard on whether he should tell this to her, because despite his many attempts to remind him of her, it was as if his mind was pushing the memory away, willing itself not to remember, to forget it all. According to the doctor's report, such things do happen, when a specific part of the memory is too hard to forget, too tragic to remember, or simply incredibly inconsequential.

 

So was she such a thing to him? A negligible speck of dust? Just vaporised; like powdery white sand scattered by the frivolous wind, not even the shadow of it was left.

 

With a heavy heart, she asked their friend not to talk about her to him anymore. Because she believed that...

 

If it's meant to be, it will be.

 

And the undeniable truth was, he had long forgotten about her. But she couldn't. She couldn't get over him. She recalled the nights after nights of sobbing, ugly wet patches tinged with blackness the shade of onyx. Morning after morning of finding her eyes ringed with mascara and charcoal black eyeliner because she had forgotten to wipe off her make-up the night before, her eyes burning because she forgot to remove her contacts before she fell asleep. She never forgot to remove her make-up. She never forgot to remove her contacts. Yet, who would think of such nugatory things when they had lost their meaning of life?

 

Every night, she watched the videos of them together, scanned through the glossy Polaroids which held their smiles, and sobbed till the tears fought with one another too hard that none of them fell. It was painful, but she couldn't resist looking at them. Like watching a horror movie. You're scared, but you still want to continue watching it. She hated him, she loved him, she missed him, she wanted him, and she knew she would cry, but she wanted to see him, to remember his face, so that even if she couldn't see him in reality, she could dream of him.

 

Fool, she chided herself. You're always so dependent on others for your happiness. Stupid, stupid you.

 

The last time she saw him, he had returned to Korea. He was with another girl at Lotte World. They were holding hands. And on his face was a smile so radiant it could outshine the sun. And perhaps that's why it hurt her so badly. Perhaps that's why she cried again. Because there she was...

 

Lonely.

 

Abandoned.

 

Forgotten.

 

She turned the knob, reached for a towel and squeezed her hair dry, dried herself and dressed herself. Mechanical actions; done as a routine, a necessity, just like her life, living for the sake of seeing tomorrow. Goalless, dreamless, aimless.

 

========

 

She swept up the plates and cups onto her tray and proceeded to dump them into the dishwasher, adjusting the proper knobs and fastening it.

 

She was working at her parents' cafeteria for a summer job. As she was soon graduating and would inherit the business, her parents thought it best that she could learn the ropes there.

 

The cafeteria was a reasonably big-sized one, and it was constantly bursting at its seams. The cafe was called "Wasurenaide", which meant "don't forget" in Japanese. She had named it. She now thought it was rather ironic, that forgetting was all she ever hoped for her life as of now. Her parents had asked her to get over him, to move on with life, but I'm sure we all know that trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you've never met.

 

The cafeteria housed mainly couples on their dates. Every single time she saw a couple with their fingers intertwined or laughing or even kissing, her chest would tighten.

 

That should be us, she would think.

 

"Would you be a dear and help me serve that table please, sweetie?" One of the waitresses smiled at her and handed her a tray of coffee.

 

Garlic bread for an appetizer. An Americano and a Cappuccino.

 

Cappuccino...

 

It was his favourite.

 

She balanced the tray on both her hands, nodded in assent to the waitress and proceeded to push open the kitchen door with her right shoulder, her fingertips pressing on the sides of the tray to prevent any spillage.

 

Table 53.

 

Her gaze averted to Table 53.

 

She inhaled sharply, and her breath caught in .

 

Table 53 sat him and his current girlfriend.

 

Her heart constricted and her teeth began to chatter before she clenched her jaws. Her whole frame trembled like a leaf in the midst of a billowing day. Her stomach held a concoction of bile and brine as they swirled in her, the violent nausea rising and falling again.

 

Why? Why him? I don't wanna do this.

 

Don't be silly, another voice in her argued. He's just a customer. Any plain old customer. Just someone you know, that's all. You have to forget about him, don't forget that.

 

How could I ever forget? She chuckled brusquely to herself.

 

She wondered if he would see the necklace that hung on her neck and how he would react. The one that he had given her before he left. The one that said "Wasurenaide".

 

And if he would remember her.

 

Don't be stupid, she chastised herself once again.

 

You're nothing to him, that's why he forgot about you.

 

Finally, she reached their table. His girlfriend was exclaiming in an inordinately high-pitched voice about how stupid her friend was, that she chose a -coloured bikini to wear at the beach, despite her warnings. Now, she was scolded by her parents. Squeaky Girl ignored her presence and continued rambling. She said that she knew she was the hottest girl in town, was she not? Her friend didn't need to try so hard to gain the attention of guys. She said she knew that her black bikini with a triangular top had bare coverage at the bottom, but at least she looked straight-up hot right? Her friend was indeed trying too hard; besides, she said. She isn't even that pretty if you think about it.

 

He just nodded and smiled, a little exasperated with her rants though.

 

She set the basket of garlic bread down. She cleared , "Americano?" she turned to Squeaky Girl.

 

She gave Squeaky Girl a once-over. She dressed ostentatiously enough, a small yellow Stella McCartney halter neck top with Guess jeans and Chanel boots. Her jaw was too sharp though. And her face was too small. She snorted to herself mentally. She could subject Squeaky Girl to all kinds of damnation, but irregardless of that, she had his heart...

 

"Hello? Earth to you! Yes! I am having the Americano! And I know I'm beautiful, thanks a lot." Squeaky Girl jolted her out of her stupor and rolled her eyes at her. Squeaky Girl turned to him, "Gosh seriously."

 

She nodded and set the Americano down on the table.

 

Drawing a deep breath, she swiveled to him. With a bow, her right hand reached for the Cappuccino. But this time, her clumsy, maladroit fingers quivered, and a bit of the coffee spilt out onto the saucer, as she set the cup and saucer down next to his D&G sunglasses.

 

"Gosh, can you be more unprofessional?" Squeaky Girl complained sarcastically. Then, to him, "I thought your friend said the service was good here."

 

He ignored Squeaky Girl, and turned to her, "Easy. Thanks." His voice was so gentle, so soft, it stirred something in her, something that hadn't been stirred for a long time. Yet it also gave her an ache she knew not how to soothe.

 

She turned to him. He hadn't changed a bit. He smiled inquisitively at her, as if asking, What is it?

 

========

 

She woke up just as the light was embracing the sky and the sun was kissing the clouds. He was lying right beside her, on the white bedsheets with a smile that spoke of felicity. She listened to him breathe and studied the sharp curve of his cheek. His eyes snapped open suddenly and their faces were suddenly very close to each others'.

 

"Hi, baby." His voice was scratchy from sleep.

 

"Hey," she smiled. "Good morning."

 

He raked his fingers through his hair and fidgeted, turning onto his back. His muscular chest peeped from beneath the cover, because he always slept shirtless. "What're you doing awake? It's early."

 

"I'm watching you."

 

"Why?" he turned to her.

 

"Because I love the way you look."

 

He looked genuinely surprised. Why should he be? Surely he knew that he was handsome.

 

"I love the way you look too." his eyes were half-shut from fatigue but his arms moved around her before he pulled her against his chest, digging his face into her neck. "And the way you smell."

 

She blushed and smiled.

 

========

 

Cold water hit her face, and she was shoved out of her reverie. When she had recovered, she felt a slap across her cheek. Squeaky Girl was holding the glass and she looked peeved.

 

", stop flirting with my boyfriend!" It took her awhile to register what Squeaky Girl had said. She was on her feet, and her whole face was practically brick red, and soon it would turn to fire engine red, she was pretty sure of it.

 

"Babe, stop." He called out. Babe? He called her babe? Her mind was whirling. She could make out stars in the distance and she could hear the distant echo of her pounding heart, it had a far away feeling, yet the sound her heart was making as it galloped in her chest was like thunder to her ears. Deafening. If his girlfriend had slapped her ten more times, she didn’t think the pain would sum up. Tears mounted in her eyes, swirling and swelling.

 

"But-" Squeaky Girl yelped one last time, humphed, and trudged out of the cafeteria.

 

He sighed. His girlfriend was constantly acting like a princess, sometimes it really got to him too. "Are you alright?" he asked the young waitress in front of him. She looked really young, perhaps his age, just working here part-time. From his pocket he slipped out his handkerchief and handed it to her.

 

"Here. I'm so sorry about that."

 

She shook her head. If only he knew, that his girlfriend wasn't the one who caused the hurt in her. She accepted the handkerchief with gratitude, and averted her gaze towards the handkerchief.

 

Her eyes widened.

 

It was the handkerchief she had given him as a parting gift. She had sewn their initials on the bottom right hand corner of the fabric. He still kept this?

 

"What does the initials stand for?" She asked him mindlessly. She really wanted that last trace of hope, that maybe, maybe, she wasn't completely erased from his memory.

 

"I don't know. I've been trying to find out, but I never got the chance to."

 

Her heart sank. No, it isn't because you never got the chance to, it's because I mean nothing to you, do I? Perhaps its really time to let you go... If so, then...

 

She gave him a curt nod, and handed him back the handkerchief. His bewilderment was palpable, but she couldn't care less.

 

Clandestinely, she unfastened the chain around her neck and enveloped it in her hand. Lifting up his arm, she opened his palm, and dropped the necklace into his hand, shutting his palm with his fingers folded down gently.

 

Perplexed, he opened his mouth, but nothing emanated from his lips. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him. She finally found the feeling of his soft and gentle lips once again. He didn't kiss her back, no, surely he was too baffled to do so, and it didn't matter. All she wanted was to feel the curve of those lips once again. She wished that in between the kisses, he would whisper to her lips "I love you", but those were foolish thoughts. His heart was already given to someone else, all she ever had now was this one and only opportunity, a chance she'll never receive ever again.

 

She pulled back. She didn't want to look at him, to see the judgement in his eyes. Bowing, she fled into the kitchen, and her hands automatically grabbed the kitchen counter-top, where piles of unwashed plates and stacks of dirty cups were lying haphazardly.

 

She felt her cheeks were tear-streaked and in that moment she made up her mind. It was a most heart-tearing decision, but it was a resolution she should have vowed long ago.

 

It's finally time to let you go...

 

I kept my end of the pact, but I can't anymore...

 

I'm going to forget you...

 

And she shut her eyes, and she wept bitterly.

 

========

 

He spun the steering wheel, and he thought about what just happened. The young waitress at the restaurant "Wasurenaide" had just kissed him. On the lips. He had long suspected that she recognised him. From the alarmed eyes, to her lips curling backwards in despair... But what was she thus sorrowful about?

He slowed down as he reached a junction, watching the crowd amble to their various destinations. His gaze fell on the necklace she had placed in his hand, now sitting in a small corner.

 

He eyed the silver chain, with a charm the shape of a star, with jewels adorning the sides, and five Japanese characters embellished on the bottom right hand corner of the glittering star.

 

Wasurenaide, it said. Just like the name of the restaurant.

 

Don't forget.

========

 

"This is for you, so that when you wear it you'll always think of me." He smiled as he obtained a small chain from his pocket and beckoned her to turn around.

 

She spun around, her back facing him, and lifted up the ends of her fluffy and silky hair, allowing him to buckle the chain around her neck.

 

"Happy?" she smiled. "Now I'm all yours."

 

He raised an eyebrow seductively, and whispered closely to her ear, "Not quite."

 

Before she could react, he spun her into a heart-throbbing kiss. He grinned as his lips, two blushing pilgrims, landed on hers. Their lips were like two professional dancers waltzing down the ballroom, perfectly synchronised.

 

Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss. "You have to wait for me, you got that?"

 

She nodded, still breathless and he smirked.

 

"You too." Her lips formed an alluring smile.

 

He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "I will never forget about you, baby."

 

========

 

Torrents of memories flooded his head, memories of him and her. It was as if he had just rewind into the past, where scenes of the movie they had starred in were re-enacted just before his eyes. Memories of them playing the guitar and the piano together. Memories of them riding roller-coasters together, of her squealing her lungs out, of him only screaming with her to be louder than her, so amidst her fun and exhilaration, she could hear him hollering into the relentless wind "I LOVE YOU"...

 

Memories of them splashing water at each other at the beach, memories of them laughing together, memories of her giggling as he chased her into the sun, finally catching her and lifting her small, lithe figure up and gazing into each other's eyes as the rays of the setting sun accentuated their bone structures differently...

 

Memories of the times he would pass notes to her during class which read messages like "I love you" or "You look beautiful today" or even "I want to kiss you now"... Memories of her blushing furiously at the notes, memories of teachers and lecturers catching them passing notes, memories of him standing outside the classroom because of such happenings, because he told the teacher "I can't resist wanting my girlfriend to be with me all the time", to which the class would melt and the teacher would reprimand him, memories of him flirting with her during laboratory activities through the goggles, memories of him snaking his arms around her waist as she stood by her locker, picking out her books carefully...

 

Memories of her dressing up as goofy cartoon characters on each of his birthday every year, memories of her recording her voice into his voicemail and calling him "her y boyfriend" and then "her future hubby", memories of him and her taking pictures at photograph machines, memories of him and her lying on the wet and damp grass and gazing at the stars which lined the skies, and her comforting him that maybe two of those uncountable stars were his late parents, and him saying that perhaps the rest of the stars were their future children...

 

And finally, the memory of the prom night, when they exchanged parting gifts, a necklace for her, and for him, a handkerchief with their initials sewn personally by her so they entwined, and their pact by the moonlight to never forget each other and to love forever...

 

How could he have forgotten? Tears spilled out of his eyes. He could hear the impatient honks from the vehicles behind his, but they all sounded so distant and non-existent...

 

In truth, he had never forgotten her. She appeared night after night in his dreams, her smile so dazzling he couldn't make out her exact features in time before he roused. He had been perturbed by all these dreams, because he was certain they meant something, but he had eventually dismissed these dreams, feeling that if she was that important to him, she would have appeared in his life instead. And if she was that irreplaceable, he would have remembered her.

 

He never knew that sometimes, you have to fight to ensure someone special to you stayed close to your heart.

 

He never knew that the existence of the girl in his dreams could, to him, justify the creation of the whole world.

 

His fingers unwittingly clasped the steering wheel, and he leaned forward, slamming his head against the steering wheel.

 

I'm sorry I let you go...

 

I'm sorry I didn't keep my end of the pact...

 

I'm sorry for forgetting when I told you I would never forget...

 

And he shut his eyes, and he wept bitterly.

 

 

 

 

 

=================================

 

oh man. I'm sorry.