my voice cracked when the silhouettes appeared before me. i know that it will be the affections that i won't let go even when the the crowds butt in. but the oils in my hand are the chances slimmer than a sheet of tracing paper. and in the long gone...
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the prologue
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i have read some books from contemporary ones to good old fairy tales. i love romances just because. there's many reason to mention but the main excuse is that i, me myself is hopeless romantic. capslock on hopeless, by the way.
because who would not want to live in a book where the main character is yourself? most in the romances i have read, they have the lead short, wearing glasses and accompanied by books, and that is definitely me. aside from that, the lead always have this bestfriend which is also his classmate, and guess what? i already have that and more from the other classes—talk about being friendly. most books have the lead that tops the class and i just did. so what holds fate back into writing my love story when i got what it takes to be the main character?
if fate can't find a person to pair me with, i already have a list. there's this one from the room beside us and another one from the second floor. there's one from other school and one from other province. the crew from my favorite milk tea shop and strangers i passed by everytime i go out.
i could solve all of his problems. if he don't have any plot in mind, i actually have plenty in a way that he'll die hearing them one by one. there's the park for stargazing and there's the school for festivals. there are so many places where my prologue could start.
i know i will be needing more time to wait for any of my fantasies to happen. after all, i won't ever settle for less.
after a long tantrum in front of my mirror, i run out of my place to attend my today's classes. usually, i have 40 minutes to visit the library but today, i don't. it is because i wasted myself talking to my own reflection.
rushing past the hallways, my glasses are now steamy. my books feel heavy and my shoulder ache when it bump to a wall of a guy—what is he made of? steel?
looking up, i think he is made by the gods; effortlessly perfect.
"are you okay?" his eyes are scanning me.
"i am."
and in a snap, i just know that this is when my love story starts.
