Attachment [uh-tach-muh nt] (n.)
 The thing I am most afraid of.

 If you’re going to ask Jang Narra if she believes in love, she’ll never answer you. Instead, she’ll twitch her lips in disgust, roll her eyes heavenwards or snort, as if what you said was the most nonsensical thing she has ever heard in her entire life.

Then her head will turn away, her bright eyes getting dimmer. Her fingertips will drum against the table top and she’ll stare blankly ahead like she doesn’t care of what you are saying. You’ll get creeped out of course and so your ear-splitting scream will cut her chase of the past.

She’ll stand up, fingers fiddling her hair, bow her goodbye to you and run even before you could respond. Even before you notice the tears shining in the corner of her eyes.

You’ll scoff, slightly offended, but will do nothing but to watch the afternoon light swallow her dainty figure. You’ll finish your latte nonetheless and your thoughts will roam to God-knows-where. And by then, you will never know the answer to your very own question.

But maybe if you just stopped her or wooed your way to the truth, you’ll know that like everybody else, the thick-walled Jang Narra once believed that she belongs in a fairytale.