I opened the fridge. What should I have for dinner tonight? A pile of yesterday's leftovers greeted me. At least I wouldn't have to prepare dinner for only myself. I could just reheat some later on, when I get hungry. I closed the icebox. Took a bowl out of the cupboard and get myself enough salty pretzels to fill it up. I'm not at all that hungry. Me and my bowl made our way towards the living room. Fall into the sofa's softness and powered on the TV. I shifted through the channels. Nothing! How can there be so many channels yet nothing to watch? It's an unnecessary expense. They show you the same things over and over again. I switched it off again. I stand and made my way over towards the bookcase. If I can't find something worth watching, I might just as well spent my day reading. After long consideration, my bowl of pretzels and I were accompanied by a book. The original 1936 version of 'Margaret Mitchell's' classic: Gone with the wind. She was an outstanding novelist, who received two rewards for this historical romance back in the day. It's a tragedy how she herself had fallen victim to a hit-and-run. For all we know she died with her next best seller stuck in her mind. Threading to spill it's message on New undiscovered pages by furiously typing away, not a single worry about time. Maybe Abbs and I should switch places for a day. I'll take her classes and she'll take mine. I'll tell her students all about the history of 'Margaret Mitchell' and the classic that she had wrote. But as good an idea as it may seem, Abby Sanchez, giving University level mathematics would turn into a catastrophic event. One that we could certainly do without. I look down at the pages of the book, still stuck at the first line: 'Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm...' Artfully crafted in modern literature. I wonder if this would be one of the classics that Abbs will handle this semester. Last semester they worked with two classical masterpieces in her study hall: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. I should really make a mental note on this subject and ask her about it later on. I am curious though! I pushed all of these unnecessary thoughts tightly to the back of my mind as I loose myself in the book.
A knock echoes throughout the apartment. I sighed as I am ordered to put the book down. Page 310. I looked up at the clock against the far wall. I've been reading for little over five hours now. It's bizarre how the time flies by when you're enjoying yourself. This book has over a thousand pages, so even if I read all day, I simply won't be able to finish it. Not today! Another knock echoes. I have almost forgotten the reason for putting it down in the first place. I slouch towards the front door. I would much rather have my nose stuck in that book and read about civil war. True love (that you only get between the pages of a book) and genial heartache. The person that's responsible for putting my book down, were already walking away, I noticed as the door swung open. I would recognize that tall figure and odd hair colour anywhere. "Namjoon?" I questioned. He stopped, turned around and smiled broadly at me. "What are you doing here?" The question tumbled over my lips before I could stop it. I face palmed mentally. "Am I disturbing you?" He asked. An eyebrow raised. Ignoring my previous question completely. I think about my book that's waiting on my return and about how upset I were by being pulled away. Pushing the thought away, I answered: "Nope, not at all. Do you want to come in?" Smooth Samantha, really smooth! I scolded myself as he passed me in the doorway.
His voice ringed through the apartment as I closed the door behind me. "I thought you said that I wasn't bothering you?" Namjoon's statement sounds more like a question. He pointed towards the open book on the sofa. I just shrugged. A throaty laugh erupted from his lips as he shook his head in dismay. What can I say without sounding like a blubbering fool or worse a complete idiot? How do I tell him that I were indeed busy, but that I'm never to busy to see him? How could I inform him that seeing him simply completes my day?
YOU ARE READING
The Korean affair
FanfictionMy name is Samantha Jones and this is my story. Where you'll read about an affair that everyone hopes to obtain. Mine comes with lots of twists and turns and Father who thinks of himself as a new and reformed Hitler. Does it sound interesting yet?
