Eighth

And when my Love’s heart kindled,

            In hate of me,

Wherefore I knew not, died I,

            One more degree.

“So Woohyun, tell me. Do you still want to slide this ring to my finger?” Hani saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Despite the prickling sensation stabbing her orbs rapidly, Hani clearly could see how his lips shivered. Hani knew he wanted to say something but perhaps he’s confused or too shocked even, with his eyes flicking left and right, looking at everything but her face. Woohyun’s hand gripped the napkin he has just removed from his lap earlier onto the beaker surface; his trembling finger didn’t go unnoticed by Hani’s eyes. He’s scared of her now. That was the thing she expected. 

            Hani took a sip of her already cold tea when she saw the door parted for him. He left (and never look back to her) while Hani tasted the salty liquid seeped into her tongue instead of the sugar sweetness from the black brown liquid. She should have listen to her first intuition of pouring more syrup from the counter back then. She knew by her heart that she was crying, and people around her were whispering. 

a/n: i. it's not fair that I want (the old) him to come back, but it hurts to let him (almost like a stranger) go either.