whew...i finally update. had the scariest writer's block/inability to write...ever....n it's scarier bcuz i really want to continue this fic without stopping it until it's really the end...but the struggles are just too hard...i've no confidence to complete this on time...but let's see how it goes...for now i'm just a little relieved. sorry if it's crappy...this is product of forced-writing cuz of my deadline/time limitation.

To those who commented, thank you^^~

When you're hit with sore misery, Will you quit or be more wary?

"Are you planning to get married without inviting me?"

Did I heard wrongly? 

That was what I hoped my expression to have conveyed, because it just had to be. It couldn't be what I thought I heard could it?

"What? Don't give me that look. I've seen it. How could you do this to me, Jiwoo?"

By then, I was certain the folding lines on my forehead had doubled or even tripled.

"What did you see, omma?" Cautiously I worded the question, even though there's really nothing to be cautious of. she hadn't learn about me getting sacked, had she? I don't think I'm ready for that confrontation yet. I need to try find a new job even though hopes are dim. A nearly forty year old who's just part of the team with no significant position to call her own in an advertising firm that just sacked her, getting a new job easily when there's nothing impressive in her portfolio? Does she even have one?

"What? What were you sighing for? I was right?"

Did I sigh?

"I didn't sigh, and no, I'm not getting married, yet." I added the 'yet' with the softest voice I could, maybe unconsciously even. Because the truth is, I only added the 'yet' to not break her temper at the idea of having an unmarried daughter that would be a shame. Not just unmarried, but unmarried and now, unemployed, more precisely, sacked.

"Then what's that dress for? It's really pretty. Did you perhaps, get promoted at work, finally?"

I swallowed the heavy, huge, thorny lump in my throat. How could she be so innocently and naturally talented at hitting all the sore spots?

"No...what dress?"

She went into my room casually, as she always did even though knowing how I'd rather be given some privacy already now at this age, and brought out a box - that box, and took out a flowy long dress. Soft violet, pale orange and pink and patches of cream, with streaks of gold, all blended, creating something that remind me of late sunset. It was colourful, yet not tacky at all. The opposite instead.

"How do you explain this?" I couldn't see if she narrowed her eyes as her tone suggested. My eyes were too glued at the dress.

"Beautiful."

"I can see that. It sure look expensive too, doesn't it?"

I nodded without looking at her.

"Yes, it does."

"Yah, explain it."

Indeed, this needed an explanation. Why would he give such an expensive dress that doesn't look like it would match me at all just to be worn to a wedding? This dress might've fitted a goddess, but definitely not an aunty.

Definitely not me. This looked like something I couldn't even pay with my whole two months' salary. But somehow, the image of that irritating lady came to mind, and I could actually picture her in something as fine as this. That, somehow irritated and hurt even more.

But even more confusing, was the fact that he insisted I keep it, even after I made it clear that I wouldn't go, I couldn't, and I would not change my mind, but even when I told him clearly, he only smiled and gave the same answer.

"Because you might change your mind."

So, what now? What did he take me for? Did he think I'd change my mind because the dress looked like it was weaved in heaven or something? Am I really that easy or rather, desperate? Yeah, maybe I do seem desperate, maybe I really am. But I still have my last remaining of pride to keep me alive. And that's the reason I couldn't go, no matter how badly I want to imagine myself dancing in this breathtaking dress, well, my younger self might be less embarrassing in it even if I could never really fit in something this beautiful. Not when nothing else about my life is anything near being this beautiful. How could I wear something that looks so much better than my entire life put together? It would only create false idea of myself, of who I am, of who I'm not.

It was the right thing to not go, I will return the dress after that wedding date since he woul