Author’s recommendation: Listen to Taylor Swift’s Champagne Problem on the loop.

Silence and thick air engulf us as we sit across from each other, both looking out of the window. Perhaps the sight of crowds bustling by the pavement reminds her of that night, when she rode the midnight train away from this city.

It was crowded back then too, I am sure. It was three days before Christmas after all.

Between the bustling crowds on the terminal and the silent sleepers inside the train, I am not sure which is the worst. All I know is that if it was me, I would have spent the whole ride reminiscing the look on your face when I dropped your hands while dancing underneath the fancy chandelier.

The murmurs of the crowds when I ran to the door, leaving you alone and crestfallen on the dance floor, resonated inside my head.

‘She would have made such a lovely bride, what a shame she is ed in her head,’

Somehow, these two sentences resonated the loudest in my mind. Even up to this day, as I sit across you, staring at your reflection over this glass window that is separating us from the outside world.

Our silence is interrupted by the presence of a waitress.

Stopping her trolley right next to our table, she first place a champagne glass for each of us before placing a familiar looking bottle right in the middle of the rounded table. It is the same bottle of champagne that her sister shattered to the ground when I ran out of the door.

“Thank you,” she mutters, voice low and deep. The waitress dips her head slightly before raising it back up and push the trolley away.

“Dom Pérignon,” she reads, a corner of her lips tugging slightly upwards. Oh my, tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk?

Grabbing the bottle of champagne, she easily removes the cloak and pour the liquor into both our glasses. She still has her Midas touch, every action sending fluttering feelings within myself.

She then grabs her glass and swirls it in a few circling motion, creating a small tornado within before gulping the content all in one shot.

“I had my mom’s ring in my pocket back then,” she utters, not looking at me as she is busy pouring herself another glass of the liquor.

My heart thump loudly against my ribcage at that, almost sending me topple over the table. I know we would come to this, and I thought I am ready.

“Why?”

Her question follows, sending me to another panic episode.

I had thought of what to say. I had carefully chosen my words. Heck, I had even arrange my sentences properly. I swear I had my speech ready, so how come I am speechless now?

She continues to swirl the glass in between her index and middle finger on top of the table. Her eyes never leaving mine, silently urging me to answer her question.

‘Answer the question! Give her the damn justice, you bloody idiot!’

My mind shouted. But nothing came out of my mouth. I just sit there, parting and closing my lips like a fish fresh out of the water. Like a fool that I am.

She stops swirling her glass.

“You can’t answer or you have no answer?”

“I … I …”

She nods once, convincing and urging me to continue. To give her the explanation that she deserves, one which long overdue.

“ … I am sorry,”

I feel like beating myself when the apology slips past my lips. How come my long- speech that I had prepare all these years all summarized into three words?

“I don’t need your sorry, damn it,” she retaliates, her voice sounds harsher that it used to be. The curse in the end of her sentence jerks me more awake than I already am.

“I don’t … I can’t explain,”

I curl my finger at the hem of my blue dress. My knuckles turning white from the force.

“I knew about my pictures in your wallet. Heck, I even knew about your mom’s ring in your pocket,”

Her face falls. Her straight eyebrows turn droopy as she stares at me and both the corner of her lips turn upside down into a frown.

“Then why? If you knew, then why?”

“Because I realize that I never was ready, that I still am searching and waiting for bigger things. So I drop your hand, leaving you to watch me go,”

Her eyes turn harder as she fixes her gaze on mine. Rage, disappointment and thousands other emotion floats in her eyes, burning me with guilt.

“The ?”

She ruffles her hair, creating a mess out of the once neatly combed hair.

“Five years!! We spent five years talking, dreaming and planning for our happily ever after. And suddenly you realize you are not ready? That you want out?”

“Sometimes you just don’t know the answer until someone is about to go on their knees and ask you. Byul-ah, I really am sorry,”

Seems like saying sorry is all I am ever good at.

“Stop apologizing, damn it! I don’t need your bloody sorry! It’s long overdue anyway,”

She then finishes her second class of the liquor before pouring for another.

“Maybe I really am ed in my head,” I mumble bitterly, before reaching for my champagne glass and empty the content at once.

“,” she curses underneath her breath.

I then pour myself another glass, and empty the content at once yet again.

Silence continue to stretch between us. We just sit there, across from each other while emptying one after another glass of the liquor.

She pours the last drop of the liquor into my glass before digging into the pocket of her blazer. I wait for whatever it is that she wanted to show me.

A fancy yet elegant invitation card slid under my fingers on the table. It was purple, her favorite color. I grab it and raise it to my eye level, reading the cursive words printed on the card.

We sincerely invite you to the wedding of the bride and bride, the soon to be Mrs. – Moon Byulyi and Bae (Soon to be Moon) Joohyun@Irene –

“I am getting married,” she says.

She then raise her glass up, asking for a toast, which I soon follow, albeit reluctantly. We both empty our glass in one shot before slamming it back onto the table.

“I gave you the invitation, but I wish for you not to come. Let’s move on and move out of each other’s life,”

She offers me one last smile before she stands up. Hastily bows to me before leaving me alone at the table that we once occupied.

My chest heavy with suffocation with every steps that she takes. My vision becoming blurrier within every faded sounds of her footstep.

I know what I have just lost.

But do I have the right to be this hurt? When I was the one who first let go. Clutching to my chest, I continue to sit there as I let a few quiet sobs.

Was the bigger things worth this much hurt? I don’t know.

I wish she will patch up your tapestry that I shred.

I wish she would hold your hand while dancing and never leave you standing..

I pray that after today, you won't remember all my champagne problems.

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