It smells of sadness outside.

He drowns in his own sea of thoughts whilst his eyes remain upon an alley just in front of the café where he is. People pass by the scenery swiftly; some in a hurry, some in a leisurely pace, but nonetheless they do not bother to take a pause to appreciate how pretty the city is. Or perhaps just the grey sky. Everyone’s head is cast down, sight aimed at the ground in their rapid march towards nowhere. He wonders, for a mere second, that maybe they are looking for something. Something important; with a vast and dense value in their lives, and if they know where it is, or they’re just looking for it without being directed, and if they have that goal yet they are aimless. He wonders if they are like him right now; looking for something, or better—someone, but not knowing where he must go look first.

He doesn’t know where she is.

Giving up, he removes his eyes from the view, and settles it on the cup of coffee settled before him. They must have added extra cream as he had requested, he thinks. It’s cozy; he feels it, when he slowly wraps his hands around the cup. It’s hot; scorching, but he can handle it. Besides, no physical pain could out-fathom the pain he is feeling inside right now.

 Smoke curls from the caramel-colored pool, and the aroma intoxicates him. He figures he should drink, but he’s still waiting for that guy; and perhaps the drink is too hot yet, so he continues to wait. He feels lonely. Very lonely. It has been three weeks now since the wedding. Or it could have been, he thinks, if it was anywhere near done. The occasion, that is. Did any wedding take place, at all?

He ponders and wonders. Where did he go wrong?

Heaving a defeated sigh, he puts his hand on his forehead, slipping it upward under his bangs. He thinks of endless possibilities; and what he does not want to happen takes place—he starts to hope. Maybe she will come back. Maybe she will change her mind, and abandon what might have caused her to turn away, and he will see her again, then they will resume the happily ever after they were supposed to—

Soft bell chimes are suddenly heard in the air, it makes him look up. Finally, he’s here.

“Hey, hyung.”

=====

Everything looks beautiful.

He gets down the cab after paying the fare, and as he walks to their rendezvous point, he notices that the sky is still louring even after the rain. The sound of his shoes tapping the wet concrete makes music to his ears, along with the low mumble of indistinct chatter by the people all around him. Even the grey heavens that hint sadness strike a good impression on him, in him. Today he is in an inexplicably good mood. He feels happy. Very happy.

However, such same happiness is eclipsed by a vestige of guilt, when, for the third time since he left home, his phone vibrates. “Just you wait,” he mutters to the phone with a smile, albeit the wicked feeling still lingers. It’s a message, but he chooses not to open it. He can do that later.

Alas, he reaches their meeting place, and he enters. He sees the guy he is to meet, having already ordered his coffee. He walks to the table and greets, while drawing out the chair he is to sit upon, “Hey, hyung.”

“Hello,” the hyung casually greets.

In the tone of that voice he detects certain loneliness; a sense of misery having tried to be hidden but cannot be helped. It stings him a bit, he admits, but he can’t back out now. He’s here. A waiter approaches the table, armed with a menu, from which the newly arrived customer chooses his order. He asks for hot chocolate, and the waiter disappears with the promise of coming back later, along with the drink.

“How are you?” the older one among the two males proceeds to ask, somehow lacking in energy.

“I’m alright.” the latter answers, his plump lips stretching to form a pleasant crescent on his slightly chubby face. “Never been better,” he adds, a bit shamelessly. “What about hyung?”

It was a simple question, indeed, but it takes an unnecessary string of seconds for him to reply. He starts to unconsciously encircle his index finger on the lip of his cup, suddenly interested in the circumference of the round shape. The younger male notices the pained smile shown by his mouth, and the way his eyes are cast down with a gleam of melancholy. “I wish I could answer like the way you do,” he replies, eventually.

Respite settles between them then, as neither could think of what to say next.

Oh, how he wishes that the cup of hot chocolate would arrive now! The guilt starts to shake him; reprimanding him to surrender himself to penitence. He grits his teeth behind closed mouth, as a crease starts to develop between his brows. The other party, though, does not notice this sudden darkening of his expression, and says, with a wry chuckle, “I remember how she looked.”

He keeps quiet, robbed of words.

“She told me that I come with her in choosing the dress. But I refused, saying that I should not be the one in helping her with it, and that I want to be surprised during the day itself. She insisted for a couple of times, yet I remained adamant. She took it lightly, though. It was okay with her,” He laughs, amused at some happy memory now turned sad. “Three days before the wedding I proposed a date, since all of you guys insisted that we should not see each other two days before the event, so we’d miss each other.

“I asked her if she liked the dress she chose. I had no idea how it looked like, but I had my full faith in her, and if she liked the dress, of course I would like it too. We met in this same café for that date,” he sighs bleakly, clandestinely turning his head eastward for a brief while. “There was something odd about her on that day, though. She looked sad, dull; monotonic in spirit. I asked her what the matter was, but she just shrugged me off. It was nothing. Even up to the end of our date she was like that.  Well, she was just like the usual, but of course, I noticed that something was amiss. We talked, went to other places, but why did it feel like—” his hand balls, shaking with frustration. “Why did it feel like she didn’t want to be with me?”

They’re apart by merely two feet, as far as the edge of the table would go, but the metaphoric gap between them is too vast. He’s not answered with anything. Not even the intention of continuing the talk, nor the soft music playing in the background, is enough to fill the silence. He sits there, looking at his hyung—his best friend, undecided about what to feel. Unlike his shaking hyung his hands are steadily atop his thighs.

Feeling that his on the brink of outburst might put him in disgrace, he clears his throat, and inhales, exhales. He lifts his gaze from the cup, and onto his best friend’s face. “Do you like surprises?”

The question is far-off, but he answers, “Quite.”

“Same here,” he snickers. “You know what? There’s, by far, one and only best surprise I’ve ever had in my life,”

A pause takes in between, so he’s compelled to ask, “What is it, hyung?”

There are crinkles by his eyes upon his smile, when he states, dreamily, “The way she looked on our wedding. In that long flowing white dress; her styled long hair; practically everything about her was beautiful. I thought I was going to marry a goddess. And while I stood there waiting for her, my legs felt like jelly. Everyone told me, that day, that it was the most handsome I had been in my entire life; a lot handsomer than I usually was. But I felt simple and small compared to how my bride looked, but I was just like, ‘well at least I combed my hair’.” The hyung laughs, but it dies out in a lonely tone. “I was the groom; I was the happiest man in the world, and that was the most important. My happily ever after was laid before me like a red carpet. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

He purses his lips before continuing, “But little did I know, behind that white veil, was the bride who was about to marry her sadness. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? When she stopped in front of me, I realized that how happy I was, was how much she was feeling otherwise. And the worst part? I didn’t even know why she was like that. Was it because she was overwhelmed? No. Was it because she wanted to cry out of happiness? Neither. Was it—”

“Hyung.” Here the speaker stops short in his sentence. “She loves you.”

He snorts, out of mock amusement. “But apparently that’s not enough to make her marry me. Is that it?”

He’s right, absolutely, and he kind of agrees, but he cannot find the words to assent with, so he keeps quiet, his eyes still fixated gravely upon his hyung.

“But my question is, where is she? It’s be