In dramas, you see people bumping into each other in slow motion, and the guy catches the girl in his arms and they exchange that look and get lost into each other’s eyes and fall in love.

I one hundred percent disagree.

Bumping into someone is all pain.

Bumping into the last person you want to bump into is worse.

Bumping into her and thinking she looks beautiful in a dress is just plain mad.

“Sun Young.”

“I don’t care, Eomma. You’re resigning. Here, I’ve brought a paper and pen. You’ll write the letter as soon as you can and submit it tomorrow.”

“Sweetheart, don’t be silly-“

“What kind of a CEO says something stupid like that? Is he crazy?” Sun Young cried, pacing the small apartment as she gestured wildly with her hands. “Is he some kind of Korean Christian Grey?”

Her mother frowned. “What? Earl Grey?”

“Christian, Eomma. Christian Grey. You know what, never mind.”

Park Chanyeol. She had instantly googled his name on the way back home, furiously searching for any and every article she could find about him.

Director of the Royal Pavilion Hotel, and son of the current CEO of Park Group.

She supposed that he would probably inherit it once his mother retired in the distant future.

It was something like Paris Hilton and Hilton Hotels, but he oversaw just one of the hotels under Park Group and wasn’t much into the social scene.

Apparently he had been bestowed the Royal Pavilion after his father passed away, and proceeded to make it popular enough for it to make it to one of Asia’s top ten luxury hotels.

Pfft. Anyone with money can do that.

Articles described him as a quiet man who led an equally quiet life, investing his time and energy in the hotel. Guests would take pictures with him, and employees glowed with praise.

Including her mother, who was defending him instead of admitting how stupid and blatantly arrogant the man was.

Sun Young let out a sound of frustration. “I meet him for five minutes and I already know he’s a pain in the ,” she seethed.

She remembered how he had been when he was speaking to her, with that idiotic smug look on his face that she had so wanted to wipe off.

Her mother sighed through her fiery tirade, looking up from the table where she was counting her expenses for the day. She glanced at her daughter above low glasses. “Sun Young, if you would please just sit down,” she said tiredly, “I’m not in the mood for any sort of ranting.”

She turned. “But Eomma, he threatened you!” she gasped, “No one threatens my mom and gets away with it. I don’t know why you’re not applauding me for being a good daughter!”

“Yes, but do you know who he is, Sun Young?” her mother insisted, “You can’t just go slapping important people, even if they insult the tiniest of insects.”

“I don’t care. I’d do it again if I had to,” she returned, “How dare he threatened to sack you, just…how dare he?”

“I understand where you are coming from, but I highly doubt he would fire employees just because their daughters jam up revolving doors and send him flying out of the hotel. I’m sure he said it out of embarrassment and anger out of anything else.”

Sun Young released a sound of frustration at her mother’s faintly veiled sarcasm, pouting.

“Eomma, this is serious,” she argued, “That kind of dominating, chauvinistic, discriminatory behaviour is overproduced in the media and if I see anyone emulating it, then I have to either remove the victim out from the abuser, or take out the abuser-“

Her mother raised a palm, stopping her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Abuser?” she asked incredulously, “Victim? Sun Young, you watch too much TV. Does he look like a melodramatic first lead to you?”

“He looks like a misogynistic jerk, more like.”

“Do you know him longer than I have?”

“What- of course not.”

“Then you shall reserve your judgement on my boss,” came the reply, “He’s been through a lot, maybe he had a bad day and you just made it worse.”

“See? See?! You’re defending him!” Sun Young cried, “You’re going to get fired, and you still are defending that pig-”

“Park Sun Young!” her mother said firmly, cutting her off, “I did not teach you to be so rude.”

There was that tone in her mother’s voice, and Sun Young knew she couldn’t go farther than she already was. Her mother was like that; subtle and tough if need be, but, on the whole, as soft as a marshmallow on top of hot cocoa.

She closed and plopped next to her mother, feeling slightly disgruntled. “You didn’t teach me to stay put if I could do something,” she murmured.

“And look where that’s gotten you,” her mother chastised, still counting her receipts, “I don’t even know if I want to let you go everywhere alone.”

“What kind of decision is that?” she scoffed.

Her mother looked up at her pointedly. “We both know how uncoordinated you are with your limbs. You know you shouldn’t be bringing a huge bunch of flowers if you know it would get you into trouble. Now look what’s happened,” she said, folding up the receipts, “This whole fiasco would have been avoided if you had brought the flowers in a proper carrier.”

“Well, I didn’t think it would actually get stuck in the door!”

Her mother placed a hand over hers. “I know,” she said gently, reaching out to her daughter’s hair, “I know that your intentions were pure, and yes, of course I’m happy you wanted to stand up for me, but there are some things in the service industry that demand you to accept the situation without retaliation, you know that.”

Sun Young recalled Sooyeon saying something similar to her once and let out a tired exhale. Her mother was right. Again.

“Maybe it’s best that you don’t come to the hotel next week.”

Her head snapped upwards. “What? Why?”

“Just because. Some outside people and the board of investors are coming, and they’re doing some audits and checks on the staff; Director. Park’s probably as stressed about it as we are.”

Sun Young scoffed. “He’s the CEO. I highly doubt that statement. If anything, the employees are probably more terrified than him.”

“Still, if he sees you, he might feel embarrassed and overcompensate by being extra stressed.”

“Serves him right.”

Her mother sighed. “Sun Young…”

“Fine I won’t do it again,” she finally said, “But I’m still coming to see you. And if he ever tries to fire you because of today-“

“I know, I know, you’ll punish him.”

Sun Young looked up at her mother, putting on a determined expression that made her look, if anything, like a little kitten trying to be fierce. “You make it sound like I don’t mean it.”

Her mother nodded solemnly, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Oh, of course you mean it.”

Sun Young rolled her eyes. “You bet I will,” she muttered, her eyes falling on the large bundle of stargazers piled high on their sofa, “I’ll make him regret he ever crossed paths with me.”

Her mother’s eyes slid to hers as she shook her head, smiling to herself.

The sun had set beautifully across the city landscape, leaving streaks of orange and gold across the indigo sky as Park Chanyeol stared from his seat in the rooftop restaurant.

Miss Choi had told him that his mother had booked a dinner at the Chinese restaurant in time for the Lunar New Year, and it had been planned a month in advance. He had looked forward to the prospect of oriental dishes, mainly because there would be special dishes like the lobsters that were imported from overseas.

His fingers held onto a fork and knife as he proceeded to slice into his large crab, the second one he was having tonight; he was blatantly ignoring the disapproving look on his mother’s face as she frowned at him.

“That was very rude of you,” she commented, huffing as she sipped her wine, “I can’t believe you outwardly rejected her when she’s been nothing but kind to you!”

Chanyeol scoffed. “I was hardly being rude,” he returned calmly, biting into the piece of crab meat and humming in satisfaction as he tasted it, “I only said that I didn’t want to see anyone now or ever.”

“Channie, we’re not talking about some random blind dates, we’re talking about our partner group here, Ju Hyun isn’t some stranger-“

He rolled his eyes at his mother’s usage of the girl’s given name, as if he were a kindergartener and Ju Hyun, a fellow friend of his. “Maybe to you, Mother, since it’s the seventh time you’ve invited Miss Seo to our dinners,” he replied, “And by our, I mean yours and mine, a mother-and-son dinner.”

“I don’t understand how you’d actually brush off her attempts at conversation when all she’s asking is your future plans!” she fussed, “Can’t you tell she was genuinely interested in seeing that she could be in it?”

“I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t want to meet any girls, but you still insist that I have to,” he interrupted her, “I’m just showing that I do not condone of whatever master plan you have revealed to her, and making sure she knows it instead of thinking I’m going to propose or something.”

“You’re saying it like you’re not planning on getting married ever.”

He didn’t answer, merely returning to his crab with a sigh.

A stricken look overcame the woman’s face and she leaned forwards. “Until when are you going to keep this up?” she asked, exasperated, before lowering her voice, “You know this isn’t healthy, don’t you? What decent person doesn’t want to meet other singles at this age?”

Chanyeol looked up from his food, slowly taking his time to stare boredly at his woman across him.

She was, as always, his ever-protective mother. Where his father had been a distant figure, almost always absent at family meals in favour of plans with his coworkers, his mother was always a constant cloud hanging over him. He had thought that, after the accident, it had been a good thing to have at least one parent concerned about his welfare, but it seemed like she was suffocating him as years went by.

He was twenty-three, for goodness’ sake, and he wasn’t interested in a relationship. What was so bad about that?

His gaze took on a stormy turn. “You think I’m having some kind of problem, don’t you?” he asked quietly, “Is that why you’re forcing me to keep meeting people like Miss Seo?”

His mother avoided his gaze. “You know that’s not what I mean-“

His utensils clattered on his plate. “No, Mother. I do know what you mean,” he said, picking up the corner of his napkin and dabbing it against his lips. “You insinuated I was gay once, just because I let Baekhyun stay over almost every night.”

The woman placed her glass on the table and threw her hands in the air dramatically. “You were literally sharing the same bed!” she hissed at him, “I had such a shock seeing you both shirtless and asleep!”

“Baek was drunk; he threw the airconditioning remote out the balcony,” was his reply as he shrugged, “Besides, I have him over so I’d have someone to talk to. You know I hate being alone with my thoughts.”

His mother’s expression softened. “That is precisely why I organized our group dinners, Channie,” she said carefully, reaching out to take his hand in her own, “Don’t you think you’ve suffered enough alone? Don’t you think you’ve…blamed yourself long enough?”

He looked up at her, surprised. She rarely brought up the accident.

She took back her hand and reached for the bottle of wine, pouring some into his glass. “You were a small boy,” she murmured, “Don’t be hard on yourself and wallow in your own suffering. You deserve to be happy too.”

Chanyeol swallowed, taking the glass and taking sips to ease his suddenly dry throat.

There was once when he had fallen into the depths of despair and his mother had been his only witness.

She got hurt, he had repeated over and over, sobbing on the floor of his suite, surrounded by broken vases, scattered books, strewn papers and overturned chairs while his mother stared at him in shock. She got hurt and I didn’t.

The realization had come out of nowhere, striking him as he was staring at – out of all things – a child holding a red balloon in the lobby of the hotel. He had stared as he watched, mesmerized, before he was transported years back, to the busy intersection at Myeongdeong where he had almost been hit by a car.

He had immediately run from the lobby, up to the penthouse, before he finally allowed himself to break down.

Till today, if he were alone with his darkest thoughts, he could still hear himself choke out the words as his mother watched helplessly, unable to help.

She got hurt instead of me, how can I ever live with that?

What if she lost her legs? What if she had an injury to her spine and got paralysed?

Maybe her feet became deformed and she can never walk properly again?

It’s all my fault. All my fault.

“Chanyeol?”

His face snapped upwards, pushing aside the memory as he composed himself. “I’m fine.”

His mother’s hand reached for his face, specifically the left side where his scars were hidden. But then it paused in mid-air, as if she was suddenly afraid to push his hair aside for fear what was beneath it.

A shadow fell over his face as she cleared , and he watched her force a smile as her hand retreated from his face. “You need to move on, Chanyeol,” she told him, “Fixating on that girl will not bring you closer to acceptance. Embrace the accident and don’t make up what ifs and maybes. You’re much too intelligent than wallowing in your misery.”

He frowned. “I have to know if she’s alright,” he said softly, “I need to know if she’s somewhere out there, if she’s living her life in a wheelchair, resenting me forever. Maybe if I met her and ask for forgiveness-“

“Chanyeol-“

He could still remember that day, furiously trying to get the blood and tears and dirt from his face.

But most of all, he could remember her screams ringing in his ears as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

“My legs,” she was crying, “Please, I-I can’t feel my legs!”

His nightmares always had her voice in them, playing the events of the accident in a grisly loop that he could never learn to escape. That was why Baekhyun was always around, chilling with him and making him so tired, he would not have time to be alone with his thoughts and let them embrace him but to just fall asleep.

Baekhyun understood him. But even he had his life and couldn’t be over every night.

Chanyeol took a shaky breath, glancing around the restaurant to see if anyone was watching him. His hands held onto the armrests of his seats tightly, making his knuckles white.

His mother was oblivious, talking on as if he had been listening. “…won’t give up on you, you’re my only son. You’ll need to have a proper companion, and I understand you have your friend, but you’ll need to settle down,” she insisted, “People are starting to ask me if you’re ever going to oblige their offers for their daughters.”

“Tell them no,” he replied breezily, “Besides, offers? What do they think their daughters are, discount goods to be offered? Seriously.”

“They are investments, and no, don’t you change the subject,” she sighed. “I’m talking about you learning to come to terms with your trauma, Chanyeol-“

“Look, Mother, I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything I can to reach out and find her – news adverts, radio announcements, anonymous callings through the television. I’ve tried word of mouth, hun