Sandara had tried going to bed. She had done as much as she could to put her to sleep-- a warm soak in the tub complete with epsom salt perfumed with lavender oil, a hot cup of milk-- she was even desperate enough to count sheep. But in the dark, under her sheets, with her eyes closed, she couldn't help but think of him and the embarrassing moment when he learned about her little indecent hobby. Then her ears would burn and she could almost hear that deep laugh of his, she could almost see the way his wrinkle on its sides as they turn into slits and then she would feel that dull ache around her chest because she likes him too much. Too much for her own good. Too much for sleep. So at around midnight, she throws the sheets away in frustration and gave it a little kick. Then she sighs and whispers to the night air his name, "Mr. Choi." and blew at her flopping bangs along her eyes.

 

 

She decided to give up hope on sleeping. She was too keyed up. Too full of him in her head. She huffs and mumbles and curses while dressing up. She wanted to shoot some hoops, spend some of her frantic energy and try her hardest not to think of him. It was no good thinking of him. No good at all. She already know she likes him, why the heck was she dwelling anyway? She wants to see him again. So bad and it's making her lose sleep. She curses and curses all the way to the playground.

 

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She dribbles the ball and the sound of bouncing echoes throughout the playground. She finds the rhythm quite relaxing and she lets go of a breath.

 

 

She begins to play, in her head she was heavily guarded. A faint to the left, then she shuffles to the right, all the while listening to the sound of her ball and the squeek of her shoes. She tucks the ball by her side. Aims. Shoots. Score! She throws her hands up in the air in triumph as she hears the distinct swish of the ball as it made its way inside the hoop. She repeats the game. She lets herself dwell on pretend. She tries her best not to think of him.

 

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After a long time, she begins to feel a little exhausted. She stops to massage the nagging ache on her shoulder then she lets down her hair. She likes how the wind feels as it cools her perspiration on her hot skin. She feels her damp hair cling to her neck and she begins to gather her hair sloppily on top of her head. She notices the line under her feet. She was on the three point line, she notes. She was never really good at three point shots. She wasn't really that good in the first place. She was okay, she was beginning to undermine herself and it annoys her to no end. Everything for her was a long shot. This. And him. Him. She curses in her head. She spend three hours to exhaust herself and not think of him but after all that time she just had to think of him! She makes a grab at the ball on her feet.

 

 

Aims.

 

 

Everything is just ing long shot!

 

 

Like this. Like you. Mr. Choi ing Seunghyun.

 

 

Shoots.

 

 

I like you.

 

 

Air ball.

 

 

" you, ball!" Sandara lets out in frustration.

 

 

Then she hears it, that distinct laugh. Deep, rich and purely him. She whips back her head in horror. Oh no! It's him.

 

 

She blinks at him, fixed into a line. Her brows furrowed. Her head was screaming at her: ! ! !

 

 

Her mind was at a whirl. Oh my God! I look like a mess! Oh my god! It's him! Oh my God, he heard me swear! he doesn't like girls who swear! But amidst her whirlpooling thoughts, she still had time to appreciate how damn fantastic he looks. He had caught her! Paralyzed her! She can't move!

 

 

"Hi..." he begins.

 

 

She just stares at him. "." The word slips out.

 

 

Holy ! Escape! Escape! Her head went on her hyper drive and she begins to gather her things. Towel. Ball. Duffle bag. Run, Santoki! Run!

 

 

"Hey, where's the fire?" He tries to stop her and let his hand rest on her shoulder.

 

 

Oh my ing god!