There was a blur in her eyes; numbness was felt on her legs as result of her static position while sleeping, and an ache on her stomach. She had eaten till stuffed last night, that was the result, she guessed. Scrambling to get up, she ran for the toilet as the comforter sled down on the carpet, left abandoned.

Flushed. She stretched once again. She had a good sleep, almost like dying and woke up again for the secondary aftermath – the next life, the afterdeath. Did this mean she would be hungrier and more appetite?

She smiled in front of the mirrors. She couldn’t smile properly these few days. She too, had lost some sense, she could tell. After taking a quick shower, she was thinking whether she would change back into her last night sweatshirt or be asked for one from Minho, but unexpectedly, there was a folded clothes – seemed old and untouched but who cared – at the end of a dresser that also positioned the same sand clock that she had up-ended last night.

“For me?” Fingers continued fumbling with the delicate wool material and thoughtlessly slipped onto her torso while eyeing the golden sand that was stuck in the middle, in a state of still and unmoved through the opening of the collar.

Minutes later, she was found dressed in a presentable appearance for a job’s interview. She didn’t think that the striped black and white sweatshirt looked so classy yet servile. That was how she loved it. As she was looking for Minho, in the meantime hoping for some toast for breakfast or white old town’s coffee, that cousin of hers was nowhere to be found. He might have gone to work. He was an officer in a commendable corporation in the town. Well, she didn’t have more words for that since he rarely talked about stuff as such.

Somehow, the house was seen duller that she had seen before. She didn’t felt more likely at home, or wanted to be in one. Outside, the snow was like Minho too. She couldn’t think that she would divine such thing. It was merely the chilly gush of humid air. The mass of snow that could have fallen last night seemed had melted long ago; even the sun didn’t utterly pop out like usually it did in the summer. The bright orb was like a soft beam in front of a transparent medium against the heavy cloud. Fortunately, the cloud was till heavy or she would freaking think that winter was gone – or maybe stolen.

This is insane, she thought. If the chill didn’t bite she might be thinking that she was still fast asleep and wrapped up in a very, awful dream.

Attentively, she stepped out of the house and walked a few steps along the battered pavement. It didn’t seem like the frontage of Minho’s house as she viewed on yesterday. It was totally different, like she was literally walking out of somebody else’s house. No fence, no flower pots scattered everywhere and most importantly, no situations like this.

It was odd, yet old – so old. Well, who knew she might be stuck in mid 30’s. There was not even a psyche at the road.  Maybe it was too early in the morning, or she was just not used to it, yet. Her slow walk came to a cease when a rapid clanking of horses came on her way. She moved aside, in novelty.  

The men on the horses was adorned in a dapper, dark green military uniform, with upper cut hair and an overly confident grin appeared on one of the faces. “Have a good day, miss!” said him, with that over-deep-down-there-type of voice and a sudden sprung of his right hand to blow a subtle wave. He was appeared to be the farthest behind though.

“To you too.” Sunye was aware whether she would beam back as bright as that young man or nobly bowed. Manner in society was the survival of the fittest, nonetheless, and the sun had just shone a coy gold.

It was when she realised that she needed to find a job, which that was exactly her sole reason to be up early and got dressed in this kind of mix and match of the latest classic fashion line in Paris.

“Are you not going to ask for my phone number,” Sunye hummed and hawed, “In case, I’m accepted?”

“Are you kidding, young woman?”

“Uh, no!” She cut off immediately as if she had hurt the doughy old man in front of her, who scrutinized her whole appearance under those tiny glasses of him. Pointed looks matched with her clueless one.

“You can call me Mr Seol, not Seoul either soul although those have the same pronunciation. Clock in before nine, out after six. I’m very strict, mind you.” He didn’t even spare her a glance although she had just shoot a questioning one.

“There’s not much youngsters like you to apply in here, well, most of them would rather be waiters in those mini cafes and bakeries, but little goes to the bistro and restaurant and zero goes in here. Not precisely zero, I’ve got a young lad back then but he kinda mixed up everything although I’d thought him to arrange, pretty well nicely. But I’ve a confident that you’d do a way better than the previous brat, huh. Questions?”

He was indeed strict with some mouth of his. She gulped, not like she was afraid but hesitating if her question might degrade her current claim in his good book. Anyway.

“Did you fire him?”

“Course. Glad you’re pretty immersed in my personal story. There’s more actually, if you’re ready to lend some ears. Come here.” She came round the main counter as been told and he gently laid a hand on her right shoulder, propping her to the first row of huge, huge shelves with linking moving stairs whizzed by her side.

“You’re young. Don’t you have a father that earned to feed you?”That was much startled her. She knew Mr Seol wasn’t trying to sound as disdainful as she had felt towards herself.

“I...I do.” It was a meek answer, but she couldn’t help but to feel the blatant mild lie that rose within her guts. “I’m just sparing my free time for something useful, like working?”

Mr Seol unwillingly gave her a long look of ambiguity, before his fickle side ticked off and he went on telling about his dame-like wonderful wife when he first met her back then of a long, long ago. He told them, just like that as if she wasn’t just a mere stranger in the city, like he was panned out telling a story for a child off to bed, before he continued on briefing the duty for the day. Being a bookshop’s keeper didn’t seem as bad as her classmates might joke about.