P A R T :: 0 N E

((written by: September 5, 2015))

You tap your pencil on the notepad you had been scribbling on nervously and check your watch for, if you had counted correctly, the sixth time in the past fifteen minutes. The client- your very first one- was going to drop by in another five minutes to decide the decor for her wedding and you couldn’t get a grip on your nerves. You gulp down whatever water was left in the glass in front of you before jotting down some notes and crossing them out again.

“My notepad looks like some kindergartner-”

“Ms. ______?”

You immediately rise from your seat, as if by reflex and bow to greet the lady in front of you. Your eyes scan her and you can’t help but think how pretty she is.

“H-Hi, you must be Ms. Song. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Please call me Eun Ah,” she smiles and takes her seat.

You fumble through your prepared notes, excited (and slightly anxious) to talk about what you have in mind for her wedding when she causes your activity to cease by beckoning someone.

“Oppa, come on in. We haven’t started discussing things yet.”

Your eyes shoot up to the doorway and they recognize someone and it takes a moment for you to realize– it’s him.

If you hadn’t known Oh Sehun better, you would’ve fallen into thinking that he was completely unaffected by your presence but you, who had once known him better than yourself, can easily decipher the slight parting of his lips, the not-too-noticeable gulp, the discreet widening of his eyes.

He sits right next to her and you vaguely notice how she interlocks her fingers with his and tell yourself to get over it because you are here to give them a perfect wedding no matter what.

“Daisies”, you hear Eun Ah say. “I would like to have daisies because Oppa loves daisies.”

“Hun?”

“Hm?”

“Lilies or roses?”

“2 years of being together and you still don’t know this? Roses, pabo-yah. It’s always roses.”

“I think we should go with yellow as our theme colour. Don’t you think it would be pretty, oppa?”

“How about this?” You twirl to show the brightest yellow dress that you could find.

“Yellow? Really? It’s among my top 3 least favourite colours,"he pouts and you chuckle when you get the expected reaction. But what you hadn’t expected were the next few words that he hadn’t intended for you to hear but Oh Sehun can’t whisper to save his life- "But my jagi looks good in everything.”

You scribble mindlessly because you can’t concentrate with all the memories mercilessly flooding your brain. You don’t even dare to raise your head to look up- to look at him- because you have never been great at handling emotions, especially at a time like this.

It is when a pause greets you that you dare to make eye contact with the people sitting in front of you and you realize that she has finished talking. You glance at your heavily scribbled notepad and read words that you had vaguely heard jotted here and there and a ton of doodles you don’t remember making. , I have no clue what to do.

You excuse yourself, slightly dizzy as you leave the room before the emotions surfaced as moisture but not before feeling his eyes burn into your skin as they follow you and realizing you still love him.

***

You bite your lip in a feeble attempt to stop the tears but you should have known better. You open your notepad and the page immediately gets dotted with teardrops and it makes you cry harder because aside from the fact that you have to manage his wedding, you were close to getting fired because of your inability to concentrate. Could fate be any crueler?

“Drapes, daisies, yellow and fairy lights.”

It could.

You hastily wipe away the wet trail lining your cheeks, the anger which had been simmering within you exploding at the sight of him.

“What?” you seethe, incredulous.

“Those were the key points-“

“You know what I mean!” your eyes narrow when he fails to meet yours. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” his voice trails away and he goes on to bite the inside of his cheek. He hasn’t changed all that much.

“She… Eun Ah, wanted to hire a wedding planner and-“ he starts again only to be interrupted by you.

“And you chose me? Out of all the other event planners, she happened to choose me, someone with zero experience?”

Sehun gulps instead of responding to your implied accusations and your suspicions are confirmed. You shake your head in disbelief.

“You knew didn’t you? You ing knew!” Your finger jabs his chest accusatorily and he is biting the inside of his cheek again.

“Why?” you ask, your tone dropping down into barely a whisper, but you’re not really expecting an answer. He had not answered this very question three years back and you know he has no intention to time around as well.  

“Sehun, why?” Your eyes are hard from the intensity of emotions behind them, your jaw is set from gritting your teeth too hard and your hands are balled up in fists at your sides as you see him walk to the doorway, a hastily filled suitcase in his hand.

He pauses, takes a deep breath and walks out of door leaving a stinging silence behind.

Your legs give away.

This time, however, you don’t attempt to stop the tears as they make their way down and fall on your white shirt, you don’t attempt to muffle your sobs and you don’t attempt to veil the hurt in your eyes like you have been doing for the past three years because he needs to know. He needs to realize the mess of a person he left behind.

“I was…” You take a shaky breath in, the sobs racking through your body. “I was trying so hard, goddammit. So hard to pretend that this didn’t hurt me and that I was okay. I tried to convince myself that what we had wasn’t love but you come back and that I don’t love you anymore but you have to ruin it by coming back. Do you think this is a joke? Do you-“

It takes you longer than a second to recognize the cool surface of the wall on your back and the soft pair of lips pressed against your own and for once, your head overrules your heart when you harshly push him away from you, away from touching you, from hurting you.

You inch away from him and let him watch your face screw in disgust. “You’re pathetic.”

“_______-ah…” His hand grabs hold of your wrist and you yank it away in reflex.

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice breaks pitifully before you turn your back to him and break into a run. He doesn’t stop you but you don’t miss the weak ‘hear me out’ but it’s too late. Three years too late.