Choi Young Do had noticed her one fine morning, standing at the curb, waiting for the lights to change. But unlike others, who kept looking at the lights or the traffic, impatience writ large on their face, she was oblivious to the world. Her eyes were glued to her phone, both hands busy typing with lightning speed. She smiled, frowned, gasped….all within a span of 30 seconds. Her face was the very picture of animation. Choi Young Do was on the other side of the road, on his way to get his morning coffee. But even his caffeine starved, muddled morning brain was intrigued and envious of her liveliness so early in the morning.  

When the lights had changed, they had crossed each other on the zebra crossing. But she hadn’t even looked up once. Choi Young Do only shook his head as he passed her. He called them smartphone addicts. The kind who wouldn’t know what to do if their phone was taken away. They would most probably be useless like a toy without battery. He liked his phone a lot but he was not glued to it 24/7. Even though he was thousands of miles away from his friends and family, regular haunts and comforts of his childhood home, he didn’t feel the need to remain in touch with his life in the US all the time. He was expressly sent to Korea with a brief and he was going finish it and go back. He could stand to be away for 12 months without behaving like a homesick school boy. In the meantime, he was going to keep his ears and eyes open and see what kind of trouble he could whip up in a new country.

Choi Young Do was a free spirit in the truest sense of the term. Life was a big treasure hunt for him. He was always ready to experiment, try everything, at least for once. He was unusually popular among his peers for that adventurous mindset and attracted both es with his outgoing personality. But in Korea he was looked upon like an oddball. Within a few days, he had found out that people thought of him as brash, his sense of humor, offensive and considered him a loose cannon overall. It was the fact that his father was a member of the board of directors, which saved him from being openly criticized or outright fired but everybody gave him a wide berth. It was the high school thing…..polite alienation, a first time for Choi Young Do. But that did not stop the blind dates that his parents and their friends had set up for him. He was sure that part of the reason he was sent to Korea was to get a bride from the ‘old country’.

He had dutifully gone to four within the first couple of the months he was in Korea. They were not exactly intolerable, except may be one. He had tried to be friends first but the ladies seemed hesitant to strike up a ‘friendship’ that wasn’t a surefire route to the marriage alter. Choi Young Do had called a halt to the blind dates, citing workload, for a couple of months. He had decided that since he was there, he was going to use the weekends to travel rather than sit in posh cafes and restaurants, trying to make small talk with carefully put together women. Now, if somebody piqued his interest, he wouldn’t be averse to putting his travel plans on hold…willingly. Like that smartphone addict girl. She wasn’t strikingly beautiful but there was something about those long tresses that she wore loose down her back, that pert little nose and those eyes that reflect so many fleeting emotions so clearly. He wanted to snatch the phone away from her hands and see how those eyes would change when she looked at him.

He saw her again…and again….at the same place, nearly at the same time. Soon he was actually looking forward to seeing her across the road each morning. She was as unmindful of him as ever. One day he even saw her miss the light because she was so engrossed in her phone. Choi Young Do had crossed over to her side and saw her looking visibly upset as she stood looking into her phone and typing furiously. Then suddenly she turned and ran the other way. He kept thinking about her the whole day, wondering what had upset her so. He missed her for a couple of days, so much so that he had even stood on her side of the road that morning, near the pedestrian crossing and had waited, pretending to find that to be a suitable spot to nurse his morning joe.

His trail of thought was broken by the resounding slam of the main door to the IT section. Without even looking up, Choi Young Do knew who it was. Seo Beom-jo, the Systems Administrator, was always one of the earliest ones to report to work. Choi Young Do and Seo Beom-jo were the very antithesis of what techies are supposed to look like. Both stood 6 feet and above, no coke bottom glasses marred their handsome faces, they were not scrawny by any standards and both were single. The only ones in the department, as far as Choi Young Do’s knowledge went. He did not seem to have too many friends either. And he was very quiet, very efficient and very polite. As usual, they acknowledged each other’s presence with a casual nod. The day had barely begun but Choi Young Do couldn’t wait for the day to be over so that the new day would bring him another chance to wait for the smartphone addict girl on the curbside.

Elsewhere in the city, the smartphone addict girl had quite forgotten the phone as she sat, helplessly watching a young man rest fitfully through a bout of nasty flu. She watched with the intensity of a hawk for any sign of distress in her patient. Choi Dal Po could feel her eyes on him even though he had his eyes closed and one arm laid over his closed eyes.

“Stop it! Girl, you are going to stare a hole through me at this rate.” He almost growled in spite of his weakened state.

“Are you not asleep then? What part of resting did you not understand? Do you really want me to call Grandpa and Father and tell them about the sickie?” Choi In ha was not the one to cower before such bluster. She might have been a little younger than Choi Dal Po in age and Choi Dal Po might have been an ‘elder’ by relation but she felt a divine right to safeguard his welfare.

Choi Dal Po looked at her with the best impression of indignation that he could muster despite his watery eyes, runny nose and a reddened face, “Don’t you dare! Just go to work, why don’t you? Leave me alone and I will rest. And should I call your office and snitch on you? Why are you wasting your sick leaves? And if you keep this up, you will need sick leaves for real.”

Choi In Ha ignored everything and only took notice of the beads of sweat that shone on Choi Dal Po’s forehead. She scooted closer to the raised mattress and touched a hand to his forehead to check for temperature, earning an impatient swat from the patient.

“Yah! Don’t touch! Go wash your hands.” Choi Dal Po’s directive was summarily rejected as she busied herself in pulling up the comforter snugly around him.

“I am just checking your temperature. I think the fever is gone for now. Better catch a nap while it lasts.” Her hands unmindfully rubbed his chest over the comforter. Truth be told, she itched to lay her fingers against his skin under that raggedy t-shirt that she knew was soaked through cycles of fever and chills. A change of clothing was necessary and if that prissy, pig headed guy allowed, a warm, wet washcloth would do him a world of good.

Choi Dal Po was glad that he was really sick. Otherwise, feeling her fingers trace soothing designs on his torso, even if through a layer of heavily quilted fabric, was not good for his self-control. He was after all a man in the prime of his life and very much in love with the owners of those maddening digits. He knew each line that was etched on those soft palms. He could tell her touch even blindfolded. But it was not good for his peace of mind.

“Use a thermometer. It’s the scientific way of doing things. Quack!” He barked out impatiently, rebuking her as much as himself.

She looked surprised at such a sensible suggestion, “Is there a thermometer in your first aid box?” But before he could answer, she went to rummage through his drawers to see if she could find one. She was so impulsive, impetuous and headstrong that Choi Dal Po often worried what would become of her if he wasn’t around. She always jumped in head first and then often figured out that she was out of her depth. It was always left to him to wade in and drag her out of the mess she had created around her. He didn’t know when but he had made it his life’s mission to be her guardian angel, even if it was she, who looked the part of an angel. One look at those petal soft lips and those liquid pools called eyes and he was a putty in her hands.

It was wrong in so many ways and he knew it. She was untouchable, out of bounds, his ‘niece’ by relation. Something he kept repeating to himself over and over. Someday she would belong to another man. It would break him for sure, he couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t be in his life, the only thing in the shape of a feminine presence in his fantasies, a tangible proof of everything that was pure and sweet in his existence. How could he deny the sleepless nights he spent tossing and turning, imagining her in his arms, yielding to his soft caresses and opening herself to the explorations of his eager fingers and mouth? He was suddenly hot again, not from fever but from sheer jealousy. He couldn’t imagine her falling apart in somebody else’s arms. She was his, if not by birthright then definitely by the sheer length of the time they had spent with each other. What was that saying? Possession is the nine-tenths of the law? Then he possessed her! Or is it that she possessed him?

He could hear her rooting about in his closet and in his drawers. She would come up empty in search of a thermometer and her face would fall. She would throw up her arms in frustration and sit and sulk. It was always left to Choi Dal Po to mollify her and bring her out of the funk whenever she hit a wall. He would gladly do that for the rest of his life, only to see that smile break upon her pretty face. He would tear any other man apart, who looked at her with even a speck of desire in his eyes. If he could, he would have her from head to toe, marking her as his, civility be damned!

“What are you up to? Leave my stuff alone.” He ordered, half afraid that she would come upon his treasure box of bits and bobs that he had painstakingly collected over the years, each bearing testimony to something that had to do with her. Photo strip from their first trip to a photo booth when they were 11, a button from her middle school winter jacket that she had torn as she had taken a tumble from his bicycle, a piece of silk ribbon from the time she had dressed up in a hanbok for a photo session at her grandfather’s insistence and innumerable post it’s and scraps that she had written to him over the years, filled with requests, threats and confessions.

“Father had left a fried fish for you in the refrigerator but I ate it. Please don’t tell him. It was about six inches long and seasoned with soy sauce. Just in case he asks you about it. Yum!”

“I am going to my friend’s house after dinner. I am supposed to be back by 9 P.M. I will be back around 10-30 P.M. Figure out a way to send father and grandfather to bed by 9 and WAIT UP FOR ME. YOU HAVE TO LET ME IN THE HOUSE.”

“I know you beat up that boy for staring at me but I had kind of…may be…..encouraged him. He had broken my best friend’s heart. He needed to be thrashed!”

Once in a while when he felt particularly hopeless, he would drag those out and reread each one. Never failed to make him smile till felt overwhelmed with pent up frustration and got silly drunk just to forget the whole thing. He was glad that they did not live under the same roof and he had the safety of his little studio apartment to vent his feelings. He often took his phone apart before he got intentionally drunk so that he would not end up drunk dialing her. He was afraid of only one thing, only one……what if she confessed her feelings to him in the open…what would they do then? The sham they so carefully played out would crumple in the blink of an eye and then it would be even more painful for both of them. He was no fool and he had known her an awfully long time not to notice the little clues.

She came alive in his presence, one glance from him made her cheeks rosy; nobody else could make her blush or play coy. She leaned in instinctively, as a compromise, when she actually wanted to throw her arms about him and seek warmth against his body. She fussed over him like an old nag, irritating and loud, because she couldn’t kiss him and hold him like she wanted to. And by some tacit understanding, they had declared to the whole world that they were too busy to date anybody. They didn’t even need friends for all their free time was spent together, doing ‘friendly’ things, like watching movies, going to concerts and dining out, when they were not with their shared family. Hanging out like friends and definitely not dating!

“I can’t find it!” She loomed over him, hands at her waist, clearly irritated, “I will buy one when I go out get some stuff for the soup I am going to make. You, in the meanwhile, will clean up and change your clothes. I am going to get a bucket of warm water and wash cloth for you.”

“I will do no such thing. Just be gone and I will go to sleep.” He rolled on his side, pointedly turning his back to her.

“Choi Dal Po! Here are your options,” she counted off on her fingers, “You can do it yourself, or I can do it for you or….or….I can call father or grandpa to do it for you. Not doing is NOT an option.”

Biting his lower lip, Choi Dal Po tried to shut out the image that her second option had offered up in his flu affected, fuzzy brain. Overtly, he just made a dismissive gesture with his hand, not even turning to look at her reaction. Choi In Ha narrowed her eyes, huffed and stalked off in the direction of the bathroom. While she set a small bucket to fill with warm water, she reached into his closet and withdrew a fresh set of clothes. Grabbing the half-filled bucket, she threw a hand towel in the water. She carried the bucket in one arm and his clothes in the other. She hummed a cheery tune as she deposited the bucket near the mattress and laid out the clothes neatly on a chair nearby. Intrigued, Choi Dal Po had just begun to turn his head to see what she was up to, when the comforter got yanked from his sparsely covered body. Underneath the comforter, he was dressed in an old, thin t-shirt and only his boxer briefs. After all, he really hadn’t expected her to turn up for the third day in a row, in spite of his threats and requests to her to stay away.

“What the hell!” He shot up on the bed, reaching out to grab the comforter back.

Only her playful eyes were visible over the comforter as she held it before her like a curtain, just a little shy of his reach. “You or me? Or do I need to call in reinforcements?”

Choi Dal Po was aggravated beyond amusement now. He found the strength that he needed in his annoyance as he brought himself to his full height and stepped up to her, his face inscrutable. His eyes were focused on hers as he stared her down from his substantial height advantage over her. She took a step back but maintained the eye contact. He had an idea…a gamble really, but knowing her, he could risk it. Her cheekbones had already colored under his unwavering gaze. He smiled a half smile and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and took it off in a flash. With a yelp, Choi In Ha dropped the comforter at their feet and turned tail, blindly running to the main door, barely grabbing her purse from the table on the way, yelling all the time, “I got to go and get the stuff…..the soup…the pharmacy. I am not touching the sickie! You do it.”

Choi In Ha didn’t see the smirk that had surfaced on Choi Dal Po’s face as she shut the door behind her with enough force to rattle the doorframe. Her face was burning, she was slightly out of breadth and a little disoriented. It was sheer torture, the sight of his beautiful smooth skin stretched across his broad frame, not buff but athletic, with the slightest hint of the well-formed muscles in all the right places, showing through that complexion that many women would kill for. And why would God give a man a pair of unending legs? Such a waste, right? More than half of that envy worthy height was just legs! Not to mention those full, red lips. Always the only startling accent color on his pale, flawlessly sculpted face, the flu had added a deeper color to it. She stopped and shook her head and slapped her face to force such dangerous thoughts out of her confused mind.

He was not a man….yes, he was, Lord, help her….but not for her. He was a relative, a very close relative….nope…..he was family! That’s what she wanted to tattoo on her mind, in big bold letters. And she wished there was a ‘jack in the box’ kind of contraption on her that would pop up in Choi Dal Po’s face, each time he looked at her like she was a tall glass of chilled water on a hot summer day. She was knotted up inside all by herself, why did the man make it doubly difficult for her? Growing up together, at home, at school, on the way over and back, out and about, they were inseparable. It was just a case of bad timing that just when both of them had broken out of the mindset that the other was full of cooties, they had found themselves as constant companions. They explored the mystery that men and women were to each other for centuries, through each other. She was convinced that, that was where her ‘love map’ got scrambled.

Choi In Ha stepped into the pharmacy and gathered the necessities. Herbal tea, multi vitamins, a box of facial tissues and a Chapstick. Those red lips were chapped so badly that she had a good mind to run her fingers over those…to put a layer of good old Vaseline that is! She shook her head again. Perhaps he was right, it was entirely possible that she had caught the flu herself. Her mind was wandering needlessly, a sign of weakened constitution. She stepped up to the attending pharmacist and asked for a thermometer to be added to her purchase as she handed over her little haul. The more complicated task of choosing the freshest ingredients for the soup, kept her mind out of trouble in the corner store. But as she climbed up the stairs to the modest studio, she decided to be cautious.

A sick man is never in his right mind. She did not want another shocking sight to rattle her. She clutched the plastic bags tightly and entered the key code on the security panel. As the bleep of clearance sounded, she slowly pushed the door open, just enough to stick her head in, to check out the situation inside. She let her eyes roam the entire expanse of the living area but there was no sign of the patient. The bucket was gone and so were the clothes. She surmised safely that he was probably dressed and if undressed, then at least not in sight. She stepped in and had barely closed the door behind her to take off her shoes when a head popped out from behind the divider beyond which lay the kitchenette, startling her. Choi Dal Po was indeed dressed, in t-shirt and sweatpants, instead of the shorts that she had laid out for him.

“You scared me! Why are you out of the bed? Go right back and lie down.” She ordered as Choi Dal Po relieved her of the bags that she had brought in. He carried the bags to the tiny kitchen counter and started rifling through the pharmacy bag. He took out the Chapstick and placed it in front of Choi In Ha. She was in the middle of downing a bottle of water. With full, she protested with a guttural sound and shook her head. Choi Dal Po looked up quizzically.

“What?” he asked as she pointed an index finger at the Chapstick, then at him, then brought the same finger to her wet lips and tapped to denote that it was meant for his lips. Choi Dal Po had an impulse to squeeze her cheeks to make her spray out that mouthful of water that made her look like a goldfish. That or……. follow up her finger with his lips. She was the cutest when she tried to communicate with full. Nobody but Choi Dal Po understood her garbled, distorted words along with her animated hand gestures. He smiled and opened up the Chapstick and experimentally swept it across his lips. He turned his head towards her to see her staring at him. He changed the subject quickly.

“I am hungry. Forget the soup, let’s order some takeout. Something spicy. Hot and spicy. Chinese? Rice cake? Noodles?” He offered as he mentally ran through the neighborhood take out options.

“No way! Soup it is. I will put some ramen in it to bulk it up and I will make it spicy. Homemade food is the only thing that will fix you.” She was already taking out the chopping board and knife.

She had that look of determination about her which signaled the end of conversation. Choi Dal Po was used to it. Barring any massive obstacle, she was going to go through with it or die trying. All he could do was to wait and see if he needed to play hero. He retreated to his bed to wait it out. Though that sponge bath and the fresh clothes had made him feel better, he was still not feeling 100% of his usual self. He drew the laptop onto the bed and lay on his stomach as he started going through the virtual office bulletin board and work emails.

Choi In Ha sneaked a look at him as she prepped the vegetables. He looked a little better but she could see the pallor under his translucent skin. He was poring over his laptop and looked lost to the world. Choi Dal Po was nothing if not sincere and hard working. He was not flippant by nature. Mature beyond his years, he had worked multiple jobs to put himself through college while Choi In Ha was financially supported by a small college fund left to her by her maternal grandmother. She had a couple of part time jobs but nothing like his back breaking schedule. Yet he had not once complained about how difficult it was for him. He had a reserve of serene perseverance that was in direct contrast to Choi In Ha’s childish impatience. Even when they were rookie reporters, being run off their feet, it was Choi Dal Po who had found the time, the energy and the patience to shore up Choi In Ha’s crumbling confidence as she learnt the hard life of a reporter. She often wondered if he had become a reporter just so that they could be in the same field. If she had become an astronaut, would he have too? Or a fish monger? Or a hairdresser?

She loved the companionable silence that they could share with ease. They had studied together in school, in college and these days they often sat and worked on their articles, side by side, for hours, stopping only to share snacks or ask each other a relevant question or two. She couldn’t believe that one day he would be somebody else’ companion for life. She had this naïve resolution that she would rather die a spinster than marry anybody else. It was always all or nothing for her. That would teach Fate a lesson for throwing them together in an impossible situation! In the meantime, on occasions like this, when she fitted into his independent life, away from their family, playing at being an imaginary couple, taking care of him, cooking in his kitchen, fussing over him, she felt the happiest. She gathered those moments like precious gems to be stored in her heart forever. Those would keep her warm for the rest of her life.

Choi Dal Po had to accept that Choi In Ha had some talent as a cook. At the family home, it was Choi In Ha’s father who worked the kitchen stove and brilliantly so. Choi Dal Po and other members did not eat sumptuous meals but they were simple and tasty. She must have inherited some of his talent. They ate on a little foldable table, sitting cross legged on the floor. Choi Dal Po noticed the spatters on her office shirt and felt bad that he didn’t have an apron on hand. Well, he didn’t cook in his kitchen except for using the rice cooker and making his simple breakfast. His fridge was stocked with Tupperware of various shapes and sizes, containing side dishes that were cooked by Choi In Ha’s father, his ‘brother’. As he fell deeper and deeper in love with Choi In Ha, he had found it increasingly difficult to address him as ‘hyung’. “Ewww! That almost made it uous!” He shuddered at the thought. So he tried to avoid it altogether as much as possible, even in his thoughts.

Choi In Ha finished doing the dishes and reluctantly prepared to leave for the day since she had already cooked enough to last him through lunch the next day and he decidedly looked nowhere near the death’s door like she had found him two days ago. She felt him behind her even before she turned to look. He abruptly grabbed the front of her formal shirt and puller her closer. Her eyes widened in shock before she took in a stain remover stick held in his hand. He kept his eyes lowered as he rubbed the clear liquid into the soup stains on her shirt that she hadn’t even noticed.

“Go to work tomorrow. I mean it.” He looked up and met her eyes. She was about to protest but she noticed that calm but stormy look in his eyes that made her think better of it. That was the silent look that parents have when they drag their kid out of serious trouble and want to smack them silly but are also tremendously relieved. In her case, it was always Choi Dal Po who came to her rescue. Her father and grandfather never got to know the troubles that she had courted, due to the diligent interference run by Choi Dal Po. So she knew that I-love-you-but-I want-to-kill-you expression and its importance.

“I am feeling much better now. I am stocked up on food, thanks to you”, he softened his words with a smile before continuing, “I have got everything I could probably need to survive a day without you. So go home, rest and go to work with no worries. I will join work the day after.”

She nodded obediently but even without looking into those eyes that were fixed on the floor between them, he knew that she was not happy about it. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and pull her into his arms. But hugs were saved for extremely rare occasions, generally, after Choi In Ha had cried herself silly for hours over some crisis and the only way to calm her down was to hold her in his arms. As a compromise, Choi Dal Po placed his palm on her lowered head and bent down to drop a quick kiss on his knuckles. To minimize the gravity of the act, he forced a casual tone in his voice and sincerely said, “Thanks for looking after me.”

Choi In Ha cast a longing look back from where she stood at the door but Choi Dal Po held his ground, only giving in to voicing a practiced reminder, “Go home safely and text me when you reach. Don’t forget.” The door finally closed after her and he allowed himself to exhale loudly. It was tough, damn tough!

Choi Young Do was excited like a teenager waiting to catch a glimpse of his first crush. He could barely restrain himself from rushing as he parked his car in the designated spot. He jumped out, used those long legs to cut across the underground parking lot and caught the elevator to the lobby level. He squeezed through the crowd waiting to catch the elevator at the lobby and ran across the shiny floor that separated him from the street level. He walked as fast as he could, taking cognition of his rapidly beating heart as he headed towards the pedestrian crossing. His eyes had started scanning the crowd gathered at the other side of the pedestrian crossing even before he came to rest at the curb.

He deflated visibly when he couldn’t spy that familiar face among the dozens of nondescript office goers, who stood lining the pavement on the other side. When the lights changed, he was jostled by those who stood around him in their hurry to cross over to the other side. Choi Young Do took a step back as he struggled to get a grip over his disappointment. Suddenly that morning cup of coffee didn’t seem that important. He wanted to go back and sulk at his desk. His whole day was going to be pointless. At this rate he was going to consider hiring a private detective to run her down, if need be. A new crowd was gathering at both ends of the pedestrian crossing for the next change of light. Choi Young Do stood taller than the average Koreans and from his superior height, he spied a familiar lowered head, framed by free flowing long hair, among the new set of people on the other side.

He grinned like a child with a candy. She was here! He would have jumped up and cheered if he could. But he doubted that even that could draw her attention away from her phone. It was time to take drastic action. He would have to bring the Player to the fore. Always smartly dressed, he nevertheless looked down to make sure that his ensemble was spotless and ran a hand to sweep his hair strategically in place. Slowly he inched to his right so that he was standing exactly on the opposite end of an imaginary straight line that stretched from her to him. Choi Young Do inhaled deeply and readied himself, willing his heart to slow down, for serious business was afoot. Then The Play was in motion.

The lights changed. The pedestrians stepped off the curb. She stepped down. He stepped down. She started walking like an automaton. He started walking straight at her. Head lowered, her eyes were fixed on her phone. His eyes never left her as he held himself tall and measured his steps towards her. She was not looking up at all. He reflexively steeled himself. Somewhere in the middle of the pedestrian crossing, they rammed into each other. Technically speaking, she ran into him as he came to a dead stop. She bounced back a little from the impact, eyes bewildered by the shock of crashing against a smartly attired male torso. She gasped as she tried to find her footing and a strong hand grasped her flailing arm that had a death grip on the phone, steadying her. She looked up and saw an amused face looking down on her. A sweep of hair had fallen across the man’s high forehead, etched with two very prominently arched eyebrows that posed a silent question at her.

Choi In Ha mumbled reflexively, with a little insincere bow, “I am sorry”, hurrying to side step the fellow pedestrian. But when she tried to move, she found herself unable to actually do so!  The arm that had steadied her, was still holding onto her.

A deep voice emanated from behind those lips that had formed an impish smile on his face, “I accept your apology. But what about the ‘thanks’ that you owe me?”

Choi In Ha blinked in confusion, which only seemed to deepen his amusement.

“Well, instead of a tall and handsome guy, you well could have run into a cart, a car or even a truck! I say miss, today is your lucky day. We should totally celebrate your new lease of life. And you can thank me profusely. My treat! Is coffee ok?” he said, tilting his head to the left, turning on his most charming smile that made his mischievous eyes twinkle.

A/N-

Thank you! 32 subscribers, 3 comments and 2 up votes, just based on the premise of the story alone! No pressure……no pressure at all!

Well, I sincerely appreciate your faith in me and my writing. I promise to do my best not to disappoint you. So, please let me know how I am faring in my efforts. Comments are most welcome. Truthfully, the subscriptions and comments keep me under pressure to produce quality work. So many readers waiting to read my story? Both humbling and inspiring.