Tasha gathered her stationaries from the table and quietly creeps out of the apartment while Gwen cleans up the living room. She’d spent too much time moping and sulking the entire day. The past few weeks she hadn’t been herself ever since Jackson left her at the yacht. For weeks now she’d wake up staring at the enormous rock on her finger contemplating on whether she should wake up at all.

This is not how I’d imagine my married life would be, she thought. Since the whirlwind wedding, she hadn’t told her parents or family about what had happened. They were still under the impression that she had just graduated from University and still dating the heir of a huge business empire. Which was the typical assumption everyone made, except for the Lahlings. They knew what had happened. They knew that all she has now is a gorgeous ring on her finger, a signed marriage contract and polaroid photos of the event that fateful night.

The last time she’d heard from him was the phone call he made from his private jet, which was taking off to South Africa. He was apologetic, remorseful and totally the clingy Jackson she knew and loved. He had recited so many ‘I love you, baby’ and ‘I’ll miss you’ ‘s that she was hopeful that he’d keep in touch. It’s been weeks now and not a single text, phone call, twitter update or Instagram post. It’s not that she hasn’t tried contacting him; he either doesn’t answer or the call is diverted into voicemail. She kicks herself every single time for not jotting down his Personal Assistant’s contact number.

How could he do this to his wife? She internally screams. Wait, I’m still his wife right? Even though we consummated our marriage the one time after the ‘wedding’? Does that count? Too many thoughts buzzing in Tasha’s head she felt that she needed an outlet to scream and just let go. She could feel her shoulders constrict just by thinking about her whole situation. She was thankful for Gwen for listening to her whims and whines. She knew that she’d been repeating herself with the Lahlings, to the point of being on edge all the time. She was also sympathetic at the same time for not being able to be herself around the girls. Gwen pointed out that she could possibly be experiencing grief; Grief over the loss of love, a husband and companionship. Not an actual death, but the death of a relationship or what may seem like the beginning of a slow and painful death.

She stood in front of the elevator and pressed the ‘up’ button while staring into space. Tasha had to pinch herself every time she’d let her feelings for Jackson take over. After what felt like her millionth talk with Gwen, she’d decided that she should move on. She hugged her books close to her chest, squared her shoulders, walked into the elevator and pressed ‘11’.

I’m going to get through this no matter what. If he comes back, fantastic but he should know he’s gonna get hell from me. If he doesn’t… ugh… I have to face some ty paperwork with the registration office, she grumbles softly. Right now, she told herself, what’s important is ‘M.E’. I’m going to take care of ME. I’m gonna love ME, over everything else. I will start with this neon signboard in my head ‘Love Yourself’.

* * * * *

The rest of the night, Tasha spent her time drinking the rest of her Banana Milk and researching things to do to fill up her lonely nights. What used to be filled up with nightcaps at Jackson’s and movie nights out with the Lahlings and the boys, were now left cleared and somewhat empty. After narrowing down her search, she decided that she’d take up 3 new classes, dance, poetry and cooking. I wonder if I’d be able to meet any decent guys there, she smiled to herself. I’m allowed to be a promiscuous when my husband is missing; she imagines a mini devil-me sitting on her right shoulder.

The dance class, she figured, would take off some steam building up in her shoulders. She found one, which was not far from her apartment – Go Go Dance Studio, managed by some guy named Hobi. Is that even his real name, she questioned. She took down the contact details anyway and saw that they had a walk-in special, free first session class for beginners. Imma slot this in for Tuesdays, Tasha self-talks while key-ing into her phone calendar. Satisfied with her Tuesday nights now taken care of, she moves on to filling up Wednesday and Friday nights.

What seemed like hours later, she found post on the university’s virtual bulletin board, which read “Poetry Club in need of writers”. She didn’t know how to write poetry but she appreciated poetry writing and the art of composition and the feeling of inspiration taking over. Tasha decided to sign up anyway, not to participate, but to listen and learn. She jots down the schedule into her phone calendar, straightens herself and nods in satisfaction. Two down, one to go. I think I will leave the cooking classes to chance, she told herself. She stretched her arms wide, looked at her door and wondered where Sierra was. She walks out of her room and peeks into the living room. Nope, she’s not home. She takes her phone out and sends a text.

“Imma crash, where are you? Don’t stay out too late, babe. Check in when you’re home.” Tasha hits send and threw herself on the bed. As soon as she hits the pillow she drifts off into dreamland.

* * * * *

Dressed in her new workout outfit from Nordstrom, she adjusts the straps of her bag nervously as she looks into the glass door of the dance studio. I shoulda dragged Mandy for this, she considered. She took a deep breath and squinted a little.

I can’t do this.

She pulled her bag tighter, turned her heels and walked down the stairs. Run faster Tasha, run faster... Get outta here! She rushes down two flights of stairs and reaches the ground floor where she almost jumps into the chest of a man, who had just walked in the front door. He had strong arms that gripped her tight, stopping her from almost falling over herself.

“Woah woah steady there, tiger. You ok?” The baby-faced man had his palms on her shoulder keeping her stable. He thought she looked like she was going to pass out.

“Err… “ Tasha rubs her temples. “I’m ok. Oh God, I’m so sorry.” She stands up and straightens herself.

“Either you were in a hurry to go somewhere or the class must’ve been a dud.” Baby-faced stranger shot her his million-dollar smile.

Tasha looked at him wide-eyed and found her dizziness withering away. That’s legit not fair, she yelled internally. Which human being smiles like that?! That’s the cure to cancer right there! Tasha’s thoughts ran amok in her head.

“I’m Jimin.” He pulls her up and adjusts his gym bag.

First thing Tasha saw, while getting up were well-defined abdominal muscles pressing through his loose tank top. Her eyes trailed further up his chest and remembered the feeling of stone-hard pecks across his chest where she almost-jumped into him earlier. As she stood up, she could see that he was at least a foot taller than her, smiling comfortably at her.

“Tasha.” She replied, trying not to get excited. But in truth she wanted to squeal.

“Did you just finish a class?” Jimin asks.

“Er.. no. I’m chickening-out.” Tasha could see Jimin’s side smile slowly taking form.

“From Hobi’s beginner class?” Jimin raised an eyebrow.

“Is that his real name?”

Just then, two chatty girls walked in, bypassed Jimin and Tasha and continued their chat up the stairs, presumably attending Hobi’s dance class.

“C’mon, I’ll be your personal tutor. Don’t be shy.” Jimin reassures her and leads Tasha by her elbow up the stairs and gestures her to enter the class and register as a student.

Jimin introduced Tasha to Hobi, who shook her hand enthusiastically, welcoming her warmly into his class. The dance studio had 10 students in total, with only 2 guys and 8 girls, including Tasha. Jimin, as it turns out was Hobi’s dance assistant. Tasha was a great dancer. She had style, rhythm and groove. She wasn’t