STILL IN LOVE

p  r  o  l  o  g  u  e

♦♦♦♦♦

You glanced at the clock maybe for the hundredth time. It only moved barely an inch since the last time you had glanced at it. You groaned in frustration as the 3 centimeters stack of papers on your desk mocked you just by lying there, demanding for your undivided attention. You picked one piece of paper and tried your best to damn concentrate, but to no avail. The room was too silent and the ticking sound that the clock made had been bugging you so much.

Less than a month from today, you’d face the deadline of your research paper. It was important. It was important enough to decide your whole future. And what was better to do than working your off to finish it right on time? Well, your inner-self apparently had thought of something: glancing back and forth at the stubborn clock.

As if you could help it.

You shook your head and forced your eyes to focus on the damn paper. Two hours later (it was just two minutes, actually), you decided to give up once you realized you had read the same line for about five times. So you focused back to the previous task: observing the clock.

Ten minutes to go. He had promised to call right before he recorded the damn show. Ten minutes. Well, you could survive.

You gripped your phone so securely as if it was for your dear life. Well, maybe it was. You couldn’t miss his call. You just couldn’t. His calls were just as important as the Deadline, if not more.

Ten minutes, and your phone remained silent. You bit your lip nervously as you waited. You always, always waited for him.

Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, and then thirty minutes had passed. You set your phone aside dejectedly. You should’ve known better. How could you be such a fool? But then again, you had always been a fool for him, so what’s the big deal?

You told yourself maybe you should wait a while longer, but no, you already knew it was once again a broken promise. Because the show was on. He would be already there, smiling and saying sappy things just to please the fans. And you? You were sitting here; staring unblinkingly at your phone screen instead of studying like a fool you truly were. You ditched your important papers just to wait for what? Oh yeah, another of his broken promises. Fool.

You the TV and switched the channel. You were just in time to see him walking in to the studio. The fans shouted so loud and he threw a warm smile at them, encouraging for another deafening string of screams. You rolled your eyes and muted the volume. You didn’t even know why you did it.

You focused back to the TV, and there he was; laughing at something the fans shouted at him. The MC must be saying something in a completely alien language, because he was staring blankly and a he was frowning as well. The translator on his side began to whisper into his ears and he started to giggle. He looked hesitant and then the next thing you knew, he was dancing to ‘Be My Girl Remix’ while smiling so, so cheerfully. It was so annoying yet you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. It was as if he didn’t realize he had just broken a promise. Well, maybe he really didn’t.

You knew you should stop watching the show once the screen began to look so blurry in your eyes. You blinked a few times but the blur was worsened. Panicked by something you didn’t even know, you ran to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards. Searching for something, anything. Because your nose was stuffed as well and you felt a large lump on the base of your throat. And the blurry sight wasn’t helping.

You saw a pack of ramen cup with your blurry eyes and you grabbed it without second thought. You poured the chili powder and you made sure there wasn’t any speck of powder left on the wrapping. You poured the boiling water and once the noodle was edible, you ravished on it as if you were so damn hungry—or as if you were deeply depressed. You prefer the first option, thank you very much.

The burn taste of the noodle tortured your tongue and your throat, but you didn’t care enough to stop.  When you felt two drops of tears streaming down your damp sweaty cheeks, you tried to convince yourself that it was because you couldn’t stand the spiciness. You didn’t cry because of him.

Of course you didn’t.

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