"We are young~ heartache to heartache~" Her back shivers slightly as the cold water from the showers' head contacts her back the first time this warm morning. It was one day in summer. With her eyes closed halfway, she continues, "We stand! No promises.." The soap drops to the floor, as it slips from her hand, she bends down to pick it up, almost sliding on the process.

Dara shuts the shower off, twisting her hair on a bun, and then lets it back loose, and then, she slowly peeks from the frosted shower door, as if someone might barge right in despite her bedroom being locked. Wrapping the pink towel in her body, Dara comes out of the bathroom just in time for her favorite part of the movie.

Dara has the DVD player on, on mute, as she had the movie 13 going 30 playing on the background. It was the part where the lead dances Michael Jackson embarrassingly, and Dara tries to follow her moves. Why was she being like this? Apparently, this was her way to find her so called -‘inspiration’.

Dara has only one schedule for today, being a writer, they don’t get too much of schedules (because they’re too busy writing) but for today, her manager had booked her for a press conference. Her manager tells Dara it’s “a treat for the avid fans and the curious press, and it’s for promotion too.” Dara doesn’t actually know what to tell the people in a few hours, knowing the next novel she was trying real hard to write was within 50 words (and in the recycle bin). Pressure, she felt the pressure on top of her head, and it was building up really fast -- because after two months of success from Park’s last book, everyone was curious yet again.

Bom, Dara’s best friend-slash-manager had briefed her about the things to be talked about as they were on their way to the venue. Dara doesn’t like it when Park Bom drives, because it couldn’t be actually considered as driving, it was called trying not to hit anything.

“Could you slow it down?” Dara says, holding on to her dear life, in between her seatbelt.

“Were you even listening to me, Dara superstar?” Bom asks exaggeratedly, calling on her nickname for her client.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me by that name?! It makes me sound like an obnoxious idol when I’m just a writer.” She retorts frustratingly.

“But you’re my superstar-of-a-best friend, so what ever! I’m going to call you anything I want. And why are you changing the topic? We were talking about your interview. You know what they’re going to ask you, right?”

“It would all boil down to one thing, wouldn’t it, Bom? What’s the next big thing for you?” Dara grimaces as she thinks of what was to be asked.

“Bingo!” Bom excitedly says as she rounds up the corner. She parks the car with ease, “That’s the only thing they would be asking anyway, and so you should hype them up.”

“Hype them how? I don’t even have an idea what to write next. You know, writer’s block? It actually happens.”

“Not for you, Dara. It doesn’t happen to you, and I know this as a fact because you’re my best friend.” Bom tells this as a fact, knowing almost everything about the writer.

“We’re not done talking about this.” Bom comes out of the car, and prompts Dara to do as well. She assists her, by opening her door, and by recklessly pulling her out, making her almost trip to on her white heels.

Flashes of camera welcome both of them, siding more to the famous writer, they enter the hallway to the conference room, which immediately go abuzz as they see Dara enter the vicinity.

Dara flashes a small smile to the reporters, she could never get used to the fame.

She immediately goes to her spot on stage, heart throbbing as the crowd readies their sets of pen and paper and voice recorders.

“Thank you all for coming to this conference, many people have been asking for one, and oh—I see my avid fans!” She becomes too excited.

“Anyway, it had been two months since my last book, my next book is in works right now, and I’m sure you’re going to look forward to it, it’s much more different compared to my previous books. And why we had decided for this press conference because of the questions that have been flooding my Twitter and Facebook pages.”

Bom then gets the microphone from Dara, “The floor is now open for questions.”

A lot from the crowd raise their hands, as the production staffs choose one to give the microphone to, he stands up and then asks, “People have been talking about it ever since your first book, and yet you kept mum about it. What is it about you? Why are your words turning into a reality?”

Dara smiles, she knows what the question means, they’ve been asking it to her way back, everyone did question it, including herself, “Believe it or not, I, myself question the same. Maybe it’s destiny, maybe I’m psychic, I still don’t know. But I’m really happy how the stories I write turn out real for my friends.” She smiles.

The questions continue to shoot, and it feels like two hours in just a few questions. Her head starts to throb, and maybe, she’s starting to regret saying yes to Bom when she suggested something open as this. Dara suddenly just wants to go home, to stay in front of her laptop and try to write a book everyone’s been waiting. To write a book – and hopefully it doesn’t turn into a reality this time. The pressure on Dara’s head was large, and the amount everyone’s still putting atop it grows heavier to the day.

Everyone suddenly wants to be the lead of her upcoming book. Because Dara isn’t just a superstar, she’s also been labeled as a psychic, a witch with black magic. There was something about her premonition, that she could always predict the future, one person’s future. Creepily accurate at that.

But Dara doesn’t believe so. As much as people believe its black magic, Dara thinks otherwise. As a hopeless romantic, Dara thinks that it comes off as fate – a coincidence that whatever happens in her books happen in real life.

She smiles up until the end of the press conference, now, she just wants to lay down in bed, and watch the glow in the dark stickers she had placed up her ceiling. She really has a writer’s block, and you know what, maybe it’s because she’s too scared, too confused, too.. everything of what to write next.

As soon as Dara and Bom arrive in their apartment building, Bom starts off her questions, “How are you in your next book? Do you already have a title?”

“God, Bom! My head hurts just thinking about it.” Dara sighs as they enter the elevator, Bom pressing on the twenty-fourth floor, and Dara, the twenty-sixth.

“Geez, grumpy pants.” Bom huffs her cheeks. “I was just curious, superstar.” She adds.

“I don’t even have an outline. Why wouldn’t you believe me? After the last book, I wanted to initially write something angst-y. Maybe some death, a huge amount of accidents, but you know I couldn’t.” Dara tells her, good thing they were the only ones in the lift.

“I want to prove everyone that thinks I could only do romance, to the other writers who think I’m just a five-minute fame. But I couldn’t because I would become an issue again. What if it happens again, Bom? What if the person I write about dies in real life? I—I don’t even want to be like this, Bommie. How should I know how it happens? This isn’t even a gift, it’s a curse.” They were now on the fourteenth floor.