Chapter 7: My Second Encounter With The Emperor

Two years passed, and life went on in much the same way as it had before I came face to face with the Emperor. We are creatures of habit, after all, and the fact that I had fallen in love with my Emperor did not deter me in any way from my old routine, and so I hugged my secret to myself, and continued to eat and sleep and shower and search for a job. I had finished high school with average results and had to forego college; we were financially tight, and if my mother had not died, perhaps, things would have been vastly different, and I would never have met Hyuk, and my life would have taken a safe, predictable path: meeting a nice boy in college, getting married, raising a family of two, having a safe, comfortable office job. But I didn't go to college, and instead, took on one part-time job after another, for a high school graduate has only so many options. Such was life. 

Hyuk, meanwhile, had seemingly recovered from the grief of his wife's untimely passing, and had assumed all of his public duties again. He had moved on, I assumed, because he was seen in the company of several beautiful women: an actress, one day; a model the next. The paparazzi had a field day photographing his social life, and the tabloids came up with a list of possible future empresses, descended of the purest, bluest blood, from a host of countries all over the world.

I felt a queer pang every time I saw a picture of his latest date, the latest conquest.

My first encounter with him seemed surreal.

Sometimes, I wondered, staring at the walls, lying down on my bed in the dark, whether he remembered me, the silly girl who had fainted at his fan meet. Would he smile, amused, remembering? Would he remember my name? Would he remember me if he saw me again? It was at this juncture that I would always sigh. Because, of all the uncertainties that lay ahead in my future, this was the one sure thing, the one unwavering, sad truth that I knew could never be disputed, even to a foolish dreamer like me : I would never see him again, not in the flesh, anyway. I would have to be content with his images on the Internet and television, in the papers and magazines. Such was reality, harsh though it be, and, like it or not, I would have to be content with that.

In October 2014, I landed myself a job as a backup singer in a musical company. This wasn't as grand as it sounded, because what I was was basically standing in the shadows, and singing with a host of other backup singers, totalling four in all, including me, while the star of the musical hogged the limelight. We were the props to her performances, and apart from singing, we had to dance as well, in unison, which was quite tough, and dangerous, too, considering the tiny stage and the dim lighting. The musical ran every night, and the audience wasn't very encouraging, comprising shadowy sihlouttes in dark corners; I suspected that some had chosen the obscurity of the shabby theatre hall to hide from whatever it was that they were running from, while others were engaged in dubious acts at some dim, secluded corner of the hall.

But I needed a job, and this one did afford some security, and its higher pay meant that I could cut down on my part-time jobs - I was juggling four part-time jobs at one point -  and I could do something that I liked: singing. I am not the greatest singer in the world, but I love to sing, like my father, something that my younger sister frowned upon, being the hard-nosed, practical girl that she was. She said that we were dreamers, my father and I, that singing wouldn't put money in our pockets, and that the cruel, hard world out there had no place for people like us.

But in December 2014, I was 23, young and idealistic, someone who believed in love and Prince Charming, and when I found out that we were going to perform specially for Emperor Lee Hyuk, I almost keeled over with joy. Emperor Lee Hyuk had deigned to visit our modest little theatre, and grace us with his presence during the performance of the musical, to be held on Christmas Day, 25 December 2014. He was going to visit all of the lesser-known theatres in the city to boost the musical industry, and the first theatre on his packed schedule would be our tiny little theatre.

We practised our repertoire of songs and dance steps in the days leading up to the royal visit. The lead actress was very excited about performing in front of her royal audience, and was more exacting than ever; in between rehearsals, I was tasked with buying boxes of pure spring water to improve the quality of her voice, and had to run numerous errands for her, as well; but I took it all in stride; after all, I was a nobody, insignificant and invisible, to all extents and purposes, the success of the musical did not depend on me, and I was replaceable.

I imagined myself stepping up to the Emperor on Performance Night, and saying, in front of everyone, "Your Majesty, do you remember me? We met before, once; I fainted, and you said that my name reminded you of spring and summer and flowers",  and he would smile and say, "Of course, I remember you. How could I possibly forget?" It made me a little sad, that the truth was that the memory of the girl that he had met two years ago had never existed, that I had been forgotten, consigned to the ashes of inconsequential, insignificant trivialities, and had left barely a mark, a tiny little blot of grey, hardly discernible, in the vibrant, glorious landscape of the world he moved in, a bevy of beauties clinging to his arm, and draped languorously around his neck, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Christmas Day came, and soon, it was night, and the musical would begin once the Emperor had made his grand entrance. 

We lined up all the way from the entrance to the stage, our hands clasped respectfully in front of us, awaiting the arrival of the royal guest. The seats below had been decorated with red covers and golden ribbons, and the tallest, plushest seat in the middle, high-backed and majestic, had the royal insignia on it; this would be Lee Hyuk's seat, right below the stage, occupying the most central position. From this seat, he would watch the performance. 

A rush of feet and the loud clicking of multiple cameras signalled the arrival of the Emperor and his entourage.

He stood head and shoulders above the crowd, his great height and lean frame set to perfection in the long dark coat that he was wearing, that flapped about his impossibly long, long legs as he walked in. Slowly, he walked down the length of people waiting to bow before him, pausing to say a word here, clap a shoulder there.

He was almost near me, two more bowing heads away from me, to be exact.

I in a long breath. My stomach was coiled so tightly that I thought that it would burst.

The girl next to me bowed low. He smiled.

It was my turn.

I bowed low, and straightened slowly.

I raised my eyes to his - all the way up, because he was so tall -  and froze. 

He stared at me, the smile fading on his lips.

He frowned very, very slightly.

My heart started to pound.

Was he going to say...

I know you?

I remember you?

I held my breath.

This was it.

The moment of truth.

He walked right past me.

I heard a roaring in my ears.

I bit my lips hard, as a wave of agonizing hurt and pain and humiliation swept over me.

What had I expected?

Acknowledgement?

A warm smile of recognition?

You foolish girl, I whispered to myself. You silly, naive girl. Wise up. Grow up.

I stared at his tall, departing back through a blur of tears.

He took his seat with the rest of his entourage, rested his elbows on the armrests and leaned back into his seat.

The lights dimmed.

The show was about to begin.

I stole a glance at him.

He sat still, looking straight ahead at the stage. Was it my imagination, or was he looking at me, staring straight at me? It was difficult to tell, because the lights in the theatre had been dimmed. The gentleman next to him whispered something in his ear, and he inclined his handsome head courteously. Dreamer that I was, I imagined those dark eyes boring into me, recognizing, at long last, the nervous, foolishly hopeful girl beneath the red Santa Claus costume and the red furry hat. At 23, one could swing from the depths of despair one minute to buoyant hope the next.

I sang and danced with the other backup singers, going through the routines that I had practised every day for this moment. I am not sure how it happened exactly, but, one moment, I was up on stage, twirling and prancing, and the next, I was plummeting down in a horrifying, surreal freefall.

I remember the loud gasps. I remember the Emperor's mouth open in shock. I remember his arms opening instinctively to catch me as I hurtled through the air toward him. I remember him half-rising from his chair. I remember landing right on top of him, the impact throwing both of us hard against the high-backed seat. I remember the seat rattling noisily, and the grunt he made - "Oof!" - as my head crashed into his chest.

The next instant, I felt a light but firm pressure on the back of my head; he had placed his palm on the back of my head so that my face was pressed against his chest, shielding it from view, and it was fortunate that he did so in time, for the next instant, a flurry of bright flashes exploded into life, and the cameras started clicking furiously. 

I did not stay in that position for long;  the Emperor rose to his feet in one swift movement, swooped me up in his arms, and carried me somewhere - I had my head buried in his chest throughout and could not see where we were going - and the clamouring voices and flashes followed; but suddenly, there was the sound of a door closing, and peace and quiet, at last.

I opened my eyes, and I was in the room backstage. He carried me to the sagging sofa at the corner of the room and laid me down gently, slipping a cushion under my head. 

"Leave us," he said, and it was only then that I noticed the two burly men who had accompanied us to the room. They bowed and left the room, leaving me alone with him.

He pulled a coffee table near the sofa and sat down on it so that he was facing me.

His face was slightly flushed and he was panting a little.

A lock of hair had fallen across his forehead. I stared at it, transfixed, yet horrified. I had done the unthinkable. I had ruined that carefully-gelled, impeccably-groomed regal hair.

"We shouldn't keep meeting like this," he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

He had recognized me.

I wanted to die.

"It's you, right?" he said, his eyes wandering, searching, trailing over my eyes, my face.

"Sunshine and spring and summer..," he said softly, his eyes whimsical, remembering, "flowers and pink hearts..."

I nodded miserably.

"I recognized you straightaway," he murmured. "Your eyes...I recognized your eyes...."

"You look the same," he said softly, "but your hair is longer..."

I touched my hair self-consciously, and attempted to sit up, wincing.

"You've got a bruise on your cheek here," he said, and touched it; a light brush of those long, beautiful fingers: swift, fleeting, like gossamer. "You must have got it colliding with my shoulder."

I swallowed.

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry," I said. "I - I was clumsy."

"Did I hurt you in any way?" I asked anxiously. "Is your shoulder all right?"

"It's fine," he smiled. "My shoulder's fine."

He peered at my cheek, a little frown furrowing his forehead.

"That bruise looks nasty," he said. "Maybe I should get my doctor to take a look."

"I'm fine, Your Majesty," I assured him. "I bruise easily. It isn't as bad as it looks."

He looked at my hands, clenching and unclenching in my nervousness.

"You took my advice," he grinned, and I could see his eyes fill with wicked mischief. "You're still flexing your fingers, after all these years."

"Oh, um, yes," I mumble in an agony of embarrassment.

"Ah, I was only teasing you," he said softly. "I'm a selfish, insensitive brute to tease you, but I can't help teasing you, just a little..."

I felt the colour rising in my cheeks.

"You're blushing," he said, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I have made you uncomfortable, haven't I?"

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "Forgive me."

He smiled at me charmingly.

I swallowed.

The door opened, and we started apart.

The bodyguard looked at us curiously.

"Your Majesty," he said politely. "They are waiting for you."

Lee Hyuk rose to his feet.

"I have to go," he said, and rose to his feet.

I struggled upright, and scrambled clumsily to my feet.

"T-Thank you for y-your concern, a-and f-for r-recognizing me, and f-for s-saving me and f-for taking care of me. Again," I mumbled, swallowed, and added, in a rush, "Your Majesty."

I stared at him mutely, stricken with misery at the sheer idiocy, the sheer lunacy of my garbled, incoherent gibberish.

He stood there, dark and magnetic, as he had stood two years ago, filling the tiny room with his presence, his charisma, the errant lock of jet-black hair falling across his brow, the dim light casting a faint shadow across his face, so that his eyes appeared faintly mocking, sardonic.

He looked down at my bare feet, then at me.

"Thank you for making tonight such an incredibly exciting experience," he said, his eyes strangely gentle, tender almost.

"It has been a pleasure to meet you again..."

"...Miss Oh Sunny," he said softly.

He turned and left the room without looking back.

The cast members rushed in, their faces a queer mix of excitement and concern.

The next morning, I awoke to find my father and sister in a flurry.

"These came for you," my sister said excitedly.

The red roses - a whole huge basket, easily a hundred of them - filled the tiny little living room.

I took out the card from its envelope, nestling within the folds of the red petals.

                               "Forgive me. I was very rude yesterday."

The characters were written in a sprawly, unfamiliar hand.

That was all. There was no signature, and no beginning.

I looked at the envelope; my name was written there in full, and written correctly:

                                                 Miss Oh Sunny

"Who sent the roses?" my sister was looking at me curiously.

"J-Just someone I know," I said, and buried my flushed face in the roses, inhaling the sweet fragrance, and basking in the warm glow of happiness radiating through my being, making me float with joy, light as a feather.