I unlocked the door to my humble little apartment – well, our humble little apartment.

 It was small, but cozy. Or at least it usually is.

But of course there is always the exception, and today is one of them.

Despite the fact that it was just the beginning of summer, I shivered.

 It was chilly,

I turned off the air conditioner.

Dark,

I flicked on the lights.

And lonely.

I sighed. Well, couldn’t fix that one.

I entered the kitchen and flicking on the lights, made my way to my miniature dining table.

Actually, our dining table. Technically, he bought it for me as a present when we moved in, but I was nice enough to share.

I chuckled softly at the memory. I had given him the cold shoulder for two hours straight because I thought he was implying I should cook more. That didn't happen.

Gingerly and carefully, I placed the delicate stem of carnation into the glass vase. I admired my work of art, a proud smile on my face.

There! Now everything’s perfect.

All his favourite dishes were there: Galbi, Bruschetta, French fries – yes, he loves French fries – Haemul pajeon, Fusilli with Basil Chicken, you name it.

If there’s one thing that guy was best at, it was definitely eating. To be honest, Minho usually does all the cooking so I don’t normally complain about his appetite. But I did spend hours preparing this feast, so I at least have some right to complain.

All the cutleries were set and I even bothered folding the napkins into neat little triangles. We had both agreed that triangles were cooler than swans.

I glanced at our old grandfather clock. It was only 4 o’clock. His plane is supposed to arrive at 7, and even then, our house is a good 2-hour drive from the airport.

Guess I have some time to kill.

My eyes landed on our old bookshelf; the one piled high with our high school yearbooks, journals, and sitting on the highest shelf, a thick leather-bound photo album.

It was a treasure trove of past adventures and forgotten memories.

I brushed off the thin film of dust that had gathered on the jacket of the album over the course of time.

How long has it been since I’ve last opened this? Three, four years?

It has been too long, or at least too long for me to remember. But I have a horrible memory, so that doesn’t say much.

I was planning to wait until he gets back so we can reminisce, cry, laugh, and maybe even remember old stories together, but he probably wouldn’t mind if I got a head start.

Besides, he had a horrible habit of not telling me beforehand if he couldn’t make it back for dinner.

I flipped open to the first page. It was a photograph – of a little girl and boy holding hands posing in front of a playground.

I squinted down at the little girl and stared disapprovingly at the fluffy pink dress.

Ew. Did I really wear that?

My eyes moved to the boy standing next to her. I almost gagged.

Did Minho’s hair really look like that??

Like I said, I have a horrible memory. And I thanked the gods that there was such a thing as growing up.

Growing up…we practically – no wait, I lied – we did grow up together. It was like a not-so-magical fairytale, the story of Princess Haneul and Prince Minho.

 Except he’s not just a prince and I’m not just a princess; he’s my prince and I’m his princess. I’ll change the title.

 The Tale of Minho’s Princess Haneul and Her Prince Minho.

 I smiled. For some strange reason, I liked the sound of that.

And here begins our story…

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Author's Note:

Omg! So sry guys, we've just realized that we've neglected this fic for sooooo long!

And once again we must apologize for such a short ambiguous chapt. We'll update more regularly, promise! And things will start clearing up as the story progresses ;)

The next couple chapters will be a series of oneshot fics about her childhood with Minho, leading up to the "major" plot! :)

And before this note becomes as long as the chapt, I want to thank you, awesum readers and dear suscribers! <3                    I really didn't expect this much support, your comments and luv keep my motivation to write going!  :D  THANK YOU AGAIN!