The South Wind in a Spring Morning

by lilylilym

You saw Nam Taehyun in an art gallery opening in New York.

It was a beautiful spring morning – it was beautiful precisely because you haven’t gone out throughout the winter break. You didn’t particularly enjoy this type of weather, spring and all, when plants are growing and snow melts – it looks freaking nasty on your doorway. You can’t go anywhere without having someone take care of what is left of the snow. But because you are a grad student, living by yourself in your stipends which means broke as hell, so you have to do it yourself. And you did, furiously so, while profusely cursing quietly in your mind. The white frat boy living across from your narrow street who sometimes tries to flirt with you offered to help, but you just side eyed him and muttered “get the hell out of my face” that sounded like “thank you I could do it myself.” He smiled showing his perfect white teeth that made you consious of your smoke-tainted teeth that you couldn’t afford to bleach – you are a heavy smoker, and you did not give a damn – and you tried your best not to shovel his -ss along with the snow to the sideway. He eventually left after making several remarks about how women shouldn’t do heavy work, those would destroy their delicate hands. You cursed loudly in your mother tongue – “if I was born a few years earlier and got married when I was 15 I could very well be your mother, -sshole!” He looked back at you and you smiled brightly, “it means bad things in my language but you move along with your day okay?” The confused look on his face made you feel better.

Anyway, after finishing up with the snow thingy, you decided to change and be all fancy getting a coffee at one of those local coffee houses. You hate corporations like Starbucks, even though it would be much easier if you decided to go there. Going to local coffee houses meaning more expensive organic coffee that you couldn’t afford, and three more walking blocks from the subway exit, but you did it anyway. “I’d like to pretend that this fair trade advertised coffee would help Ethiopian people somewhere else and that’s a lie – but whatever.” What else can you do when you were living as a consumer in such a global capitalist econimic structure? You could go on, but then you’d be too frustrated for that sh!t – and it was such a beautiful morning – so you let it go. You put on your most exciting clothes – a black ripped jeans, a black shirt, with a black blazer and black sneakers. Perfect. You managed to gloom down the whole street. You brought with you a Haruki Murakami book – god knows you hated this author for writing nonsensically similar stories after stories about weird , cats, disappearing women and existentially confused young men who f-cked everything. But he mused a great deal on loneliness – and being a cynical piece of sh!t you are, you loved it. “Now I can have my organic black coffee with too much raw sugar, reading the 100th story about how we’re one of those lonely planets in the universe. “ You excitedly think as you gloomily put on some tinted orange red lipstick that didn’t bring out the yellow in your teeth if you accidentally smile – you learned that in one of those cheesy magazines you read once in a while in a toilet of a fancy coffee house. And you left the house.

While you were walking, you got furious by the constant cat callings that those distasteful men threw at not only you but many other women around. You’re not a feminist for no reasons – and you might even be the man-hating type of feminist. That could well explain why you haven’t had a relationship in such a long time – not because you are a broke -ss grad student who lives with a cat who apparently has no interest in men who couldn’t hold a conversation. Some men really put you into an aual mood, even worse, suicidal and going-all-out-psycho-serial-killer mode. But you were good; you managed to not have killed anyone (yet).

On the intersection near Brooklyn bridge, you saw an art opening gallery and decided to check it out. Coffee can wait, you mumbled, you weren’t that particular excited in spending 6 bucks first thing in the morning, so you followed what seems to be a more reasonable and artistic call. You crossed the street carefully – remember children, if you’re in NY, you have to do it carefully, because apparently people who have a car and drive it don’t equal people who know how to drive – and got to the gate. Your heart sang a little cheerful song when you found out that it was free – free sh!t is your jam. So you went on ahead and join the little crowd inside the hall.

That was when you first saw Nam Taehyun.

Of course you wouldn’t know his name at first – and your dying instinct of a biological female animal was revived the moment that pretty face crossed your eyes. That was the most beautiful little face you have seen in years – and you really meant years. He had this warm brownish blond color on his hair – newly dyed you were sure – the roots were perfect, with a simple white buttoned up shirt. The well-fitted dark gray of trousers really complimented his long legs, one was slightly resting behind the other. Dude belonged to one of those paintings on the wall – you amazedly thought. You cleared your throat and thought of a way to say hi – but you couldn’t come up with any. It has been years since your flirting technique has been put to use, and you never used it well. So you decided to not say anything and just stepped next to him to look at the painting he was so concentrating in looking.

“This boy has a good taste” – you were silently appreciating the painting when you heard a voice next to you.

“!@D$%GBN”

You didn’t understand sh!t. You didn’t speak Korean, except for maybe ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ which is practically the same word. He might not even be talking to you, so you tried not to embarrass yourself by not turning around. But he spoke again, this time, in English, with the cutest little accent that you have heard – that is not to say you don’t have an accent either, you do. But still.

“You like this painting?”

“I only came to look at it because you gorgeous thing is pondering upon this sh!t” – you wanted to say so but stopped yourself. The perks of being a lecturer for years really helped you through all kinds of pretentious intellectual conversations even in topics you know jack sh!t about. You nodded slightly to acknowledge his question and slowly responded:

“I was intrigued.”

“That was an interesting choice of word.” He said. Damn, that’s hot. You shamelessly thought. Is he flirting with me or no? But then those boys with such outstanding appeals like this, they breath flirtation and you knew the game so well, so you didn’t try to rush.

“Because?”

“One wouldn’t use such word if they were not emotionally invested in something.”

You’re damn right son. You thought. I am so freaking invested in the art that is your face right now. But you tried not to look straight at his eyes, even though he slightly lowered his head to look at you. The height difference is perfect goddamnit. You cursed again in your head.

“Interesting observation.” You nonchalantly replied.

“Are you from here?” He asked again. Wow okay now we’re talking. You hid your victorious smile and calmly responded.

“I would assume that you heard my accent.” He looked a little flustered by your comeback, which you admitted was a little mean. But it was true. People loved asking where you’re from in this country when you don’t sound a certai