Warning: There is some use of strong language later in the prologue.

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Minji’s POV

“Hey Minji, let’s get going!”

“Just a second!” I yelled back down the stairs at my older brother, Minho. Taking a deep breath, I scrutinized myself one last time in front of the full-length mirror hanging off my bedroom door. A brand new baby pink dress that I’d bought at the mall with Key yesterday hung loosely off my body, and strappy silver heels clad my feet. I’d spent most of the money I’d earned babysitting over the summer on the outfit—but hey, it was for a good cause, right?

“Choi Minji! Get your down here!”

“Yessir!” I grabbed my clutch and hurried down the stairs into the living room, where Minho was waiting with the car keys dangling from his hand. “Hurry up or you’re going to be late,” he said impatiently, turning to open the front door.

“Wow, no ‘you look nice’ or anything?” I joked, rolling my eyes as I headed out of the house. 

Minho chuckled and unlocked the car. “I guess some things don’t change, even after sixteen years.”

But as we were pulling out of the driveway, he glanced at me sideways—and smiled. “You do look nice,” Minho admitted. “Happy birthday, Minji.”

“Thanks,” I giggled, feeling a little bashful. I’d spent hours curling my hair, painting my nails, and choosing what accessories to wear in preparation for this date. It might sound silly, but I’d been looking forward to my birthday dinner for months, and I was ready to pull out all the stops to make it perfect.

After about ten minutes of driving we arrived at a fancy French restaurant called Bon Appétit, where Minho pulled into the parking lot and checked the time. “It’s seven-forty,” he informed me, then peered through the windows of the restaurant, searching the interior. “I don’t see him,” Minho remarked, looking concerned. “Do you want me to wait with you until he gets here?”

“No, oppa, it’s fine. I’ll just wait inside,” I said, opening the door and getting out. “Are you sure?” Minho protested, but I nodded my head firmly. “Yes, I’m sure. And if I need anything I’ll call you,” I reassured him, pulling out my phone and waving it in front of his face. Minho still looked reluctant, but finally relented and began to pull out of the parking lot. “Have fun, Minji. And be safe,” he called out to me, then waved and drove away. I sighed in relief, turning to walk into the restaurant. Sometimes, Minho could be so overprotective.

Upon entering the restaurant I froze, gaping at the interior. There were elegant white tables and chairs with beautiful tableware and well-dressed waiters floating around the room; the lights were dimmed slightly, and soft, romantic music played in the background. I looked around, slightly overwhelmed by the high-class atmosphere, until a maitre d’ dressed in a tux approached me.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle.” He bowed, the very picture of sophistication. “Do you have a reservation?”

“A-ah, yes,” I stuttered, suddenly feeling rather shabby and out of place. “There should be a reservation for two, under the name Lee Taemin?”

 The maitre d’ checked his list for a moment, before looking up with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry madam, but there are no reservations under that name. However, I can seat you at a table for now, and when Mr. Lee arrives I’ll him over. Is that alright with you?”

“Oh! Um, yes, thank you,” I answered, surprised. Why wasn’t there a reservation under Taemin’s name? He said he’d take care of getting a table and paying for the food and everything…I shook the thoughts out of my head as the maitre d’ smiled and said, “Very well, if you would please follow me.”

I followed him to a table set for two, where he seated me and then bowed once more before disappearing, leaving me staring at the candle and small bouquet of roses sitting in the center of the table. It was all very lovely and romantic—but where was my boyfriend?

I pulled out my phone to check the time; 7:45 already. We were supposed to meet here five minutes ago. I sent Taemin a quick text: Baby where are you? I’m at Bon Appétit already, I’ve got us a table. And then I sat, and waited.

 Five minutes passed. A waiter came by and asked me what I’d like to drink, to which I responded water. Then another five minutes, spent sipping said water. Still no boyfriend showing up for my birthday dinner.

I checked my phone again; still no reply. It was nearly 8 o’clock, but Taemin didn’t walk through the door. And, at long last, I began to feel a hint of dread.

No—it couldn’t possibly be happening again. Taemin wasn’t standing me up for our date—again. He hadn’t forgotten me, hadn’t neglected me, hadn’t tossed me—his girlfriend—aside on her sixteenth birthday. It just wasn’t possible.

Even so, I felt a tear slide down my cheek and quickly rubbed it away, grimacing. After all that painstaking effort to perfectly apply eyeliner and mascara, I wasn’t about to cry it off. But hey—what did it matter, anyway? It’s not like my boyfriend was here to see it. Any of it.

Hurriedly, I left a wad of cash on the table and then grabbed my bag, getting up and heading out the door. As I started walking briskly down the street I got a blast of cold air in my face and shivered, wrapping my scarf tighter around myself. I was getting a couple of strange looks—after all, it was the middle of February and here I was, walking around in a dress like a complete idiot—but then again, I hadn’t planned on spending much time outside.

I wasn’t exactly sure where I was heading, but I knew I just had to keep moving to clear my head and get a hold of my emotions. Part of me knew that the smart thing to do right now would be to call Minho and ask him to pick me up, but I was so embarrassed—after hyping up the date so much and spending all that time getting ready, I couldn’t stand to see the look on his face when I got into the car. Plus, I knew he would be really mad at Taemin, and I wasn’t ready to deal with that yet.

So I kept walking until I reached the shops downtown and then sat on a bench, my feet aching. I took off one of my heels, wincing, and started massaging my foot. People walked by with their shopping bags, and I glanced at them absentmindedly, wondering if maybe I should go buy something to cheer myself up—when suddenly my eyes caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd.

I gasped, standing up and grabbing the person’s jacket. “Taemin?”

The person swiveled around—and it was Taemin, alright. He took the sight of my dress and heels in, and his eyes widened as he eloquently uttered two words:

“Oh .”

A wave of anger crashed over me while my heart simultaneously shattered into a million pieces.

“’Oh ’ is right, you…you !” I spat, so full of fury and hurt that my vision blurred. Or maybe that was because of the tears.

I shoved Taemin hard in the chest, causing him to stumble a few feet backwards. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed, alarmed at my sudden brutality. I ignored him and swung my clutch at his face, eliciting another yell of shock. “Minji, stop it! I’m sorry, okay?” Taemin yelped, holding his hands up defensively.

“You’re sorry. You’re SORRY. Yeah, okay, because that just totally fixes everything,” I said sarcastically, knowing I was starting to draw a crowd but frankly too angry to care. “As if I should believe that after months of you ditching me on dates, ‘forgetting’ to call back, making absolutely zero effort to be a decent boyfriend—“ the tears were flowing freely now, but I ignored them. I slapped Taemin hard across the face, and he reeled back in shock. Slowly turning to face me again, he brought a hand up to his reddening cheek.

 “You slapped me,” he said.

“Yes. Yes, I did,” I retorted, slightly shocked myself but trying not to let it show. “And you know what else I’m doing? I’m breaking up with you.” I drew myself up to my full height (which was still a full three inches shorter than Taemin—dammit), watching triumphantly as his eyes widened and he stuttered, “No, Minji. No. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Lee Taemin. We are over. Done.” And with that I turned, clip-clopping through the crowd of people with my clutch swinging, ignoring Taemin’s pleading voice behind me.

“Minji, wait. Minji please, I’m sorry—“

I could feel the tears coming harder now and sped up, keeping my head ducked and trying not to sob as I hurried down the street to nowhere. Eventually Taemin’s voice faded away, and I finally stopped at a corner, dropping into a bench and letting it all out. My shoulders hitched with sobs and I grabbed a tissue from my bag, ignoring the concerned looks I was getting from people passing by.

Eventually the onslaught of tears slowed, and I fumbled for my phone, dialing Minho’s number.

 “Minji?” He picked up on the third ring, sounding anxious. “Are you okay? Should I come and pick you up?”

“Yes,” I answered, ignoring the first question and skipping right to the second. I gave Minho the name of my street and he hung up without any more questions, for which I was grateful. When he came to pick me up he made no remarks about my red-rimmed eyes or generally disheveled appearance, but drove me home in silence.

We reached the house, and Minho turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “Want oppa to hold you?” he said simply, opening up his arms. And I felt my throat close up as I sobbed “Yes”, sinking into his warm and comforting embrace.

A/N:  Hehe so dramatic