Kiss me damn it! I implore her, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by her. I’m staring at Hyomin's exquisitely sculptured mouth, mesmerized, and she’s looking down at me, her gaze hooded, her eyes darkening. She’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms. Kiss me, please. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of her head as if in answer to my silent question. When she opens her eyes again, it’s with some new purpose, a steely resolve. 
“Jiyeon, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the woman for you,” she whispers. What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at her, and my head swims with rejection. 
“Breathe, Jiyeon, breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go,” she says quietly, and she gently pushes me away. 
Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to Hyomin, leaving me wired and weak. NO! My psyche screams as she pulls away, leaving me bereft. She has her hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length, watching my reactions carefully. And the only thing I can think is that I wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and she didn’t do it. She doesn’t want me. She really doesn’t want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning. 
“I’ve got this,” I breathe, finding my voice. “Thank you,” I mutter awash with humiliation. How could I have misread the situation between us so utterly? I need to get away from her. 
“For what?” She frowns. She hasn’t taken her hands off me. “For saving me,” I whisper. “That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what 
could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?” She releases me, her hands by her sides, and I’m standing in front of her feeling like a fool. 
With a shake, I clear my head. I just want to go. All my vague, unarticulated hopes have been dashed. She doesn’t want me. What was I thinking? I scold myself. What would Park Hyomin want with you? My subconscious mocks me. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared. I quickly make my way across, conscious that Hyomin is behind me. Outside the hotel, I turn briefly to face her but cannot look her in the eye. 
“Thanks for the tea and doing the photo shoot,” I murmur. 
“Jiyeon... I... ” She stops, and the anguish in her voice demands my attention, so I peer unwillingly up at her. Her eyes are bleak as she runs her hand through her hair. She looks torn, frustrated, her expression stark, all her careful control has evaporated. 
“What, Miss Park?” I snap irritably after she says – nothing. I just want to go. I need to take my fragile, wounded pride away and somehow nurse it back to health. 
“Good luck with your exams,” she murmurs. 
Huh? This is why she looks so desolate? This is the big send off? Just to wish me luck in my exams? 
“Thanks.” I can’t disguise the sarcasm in my voice. “Goodbye, Ms. Park.” I turn on my heel, vaguely amazed that I don’t trip, and without giving her a second glance, I disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage. 
Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak uorescent light, I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying? I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am. Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was – my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations. 
I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay... so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting eld. 
Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Hyomin damn Park. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Jeonghan and Ham Eunjung, though I’m sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps I just need a good cry. 
Stop! Stop Now! - My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home, do your studying. Forget about her... Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap. 
I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together Jiyeon. I head for Soyeon's car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of her again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams. 
Soyeon is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me. 
“Jiyeon what’s wrong?” 
Oh no... not the Park Soyeon Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off now Soyeon way – but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute. 
“You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary. “Nothing Soyeon.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my 
face. “Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She 
stands, her eyes b with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I need to say something just to get her to back off. 
“I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from... her. 
“Jeez Ji – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on me. 
“No. Hyomin saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.” “I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.” “I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why she asked me.” “She likes you ji.” She drops her arms. “Not anymore. I won’t be seeing her again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter of fact. 
“Oh?” Crap. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face. “Yeah... she’s a little out of my league Soyeon,” I say as dryly as I can manage. “What do you mean?” “Unnie , it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen door- 
way. “Not to me,” she says. “Okay, she’s got more money than you, but then she has more 
money than most people in America!” “Unnie she’s– ” I shrug. “Jiyeon! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she 
interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again. “Unnie, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns. “Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. Eunjung took some great pictures.” 
Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Hyomin I-don’t-want-you Park? 
“Sure,” I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there she is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking. 
I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting her steady gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why she’s not the woman for me – her own words to me. And it’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. She’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. Her words make sense. She’s not the woman for me. This is what she meant, and it makes her rejection easier to accept... almost. I can live with this. I understand. 
“Very good Soyeonnie,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about her again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read. 
It’s only when I’m in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strangemorning. I keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’ quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when I was in her arms mentally begging her with every fiber of my being to kiss me. She’d said it there and then. She didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps she’s celibate? I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe she’s saving himself. Well not for you, my sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams. 
And that night, I dream of brown eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it... it’s just not clear. 
----
I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel the Cheshire cat grin spread over my face. It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before. I glance across the sports hall at Soyeon, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Soyeon stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile too. 
We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Soyeon is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys. 
“Ji , there’s a package for you.” Soyeon is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd. I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently. Soyeon gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It’s addressed to Miss Park Jiyeon. There’s no sender’s address or name. Perhaps it’s from my mom or Step dad. 
“It’s probably from my parents.” 
“Open it!” Soyeon is excited as she heads into the kitchen for our ‘Exams are finished hurrah Champagne’. 
I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is: 
Why didn't you tell me there was danger? Why didn't you warn me?

Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell of these tricks...

I recognize the quote from Tess. I am stunned by the irony as I’ve just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in my final examination. Perhaps there is no irony... perhaps it’s deliberate. I inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is: 
‘London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.’ 
Holy - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who’s sent them. Soyeon is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card. 
“First Editions,” I whisper. “No.” Soyeon's eyes are wide with disbelief. “Hyomin?” I nod. “Can’t think of anyone else.” “What does this card mean?” “I have no idea. I think it’s a