In the Game of Love

Chapter 4

Lost in my thoughts, I stand motionless under the shower. Steaming hot water and soapy suds cascade down my body. What in the actual fuck happened today? Is this a dream? I pinch myself. Ouch. No, I guess I'm awake. Where did this idea come from by the way, that you can't feel pain in a dream? I can think of at least a few dreams where I fell down or got hurt. So maybe I am in a dream. Only explanation for it. Sonny, the Sonny, Son Heung Min, football superstar, globalsuperstar Sonny is here, and I met him, and we talked.

I guess from his perspective he just enjoyed having the opportunity to connect with a person from a different world, who speaks a little bit of his language, and works on an app he enjoys. Maybe he gets tired discussing football all day every day, no matter how much he loves the sport. Which means if he knew how much into football I was, he probably wouldn't have talked to me as he did, I frown to myself. I would just be the same as every other fan, hounding him for an autograph, telling him how great he is, fawning at his every move. It feels like I somehow tricked him even though it wasn't entirely intentional on my part, and now it's too late to confess.

But if you think about it, odds are, I will never see him again. He could have already left by now. Even if he is sticking around till tomorrow, which is not very likely given his busy schedule, I probably won't get another opening to talk to him. This was a one in a million thing, meeting him like this. Outside of this resort, the chance of us crossing paths again is infinitesimal. Even if I go to every Spurs match he plays in, the probability of him spotting me in the crowd is near zero. So, he will never find out that I was being dishonest, because we will never meet each other again.

And that should settle it, end of story, but strangely the thought does nothing to soothe my mind. Shouldn't I be happy? I met my favorite footballer, and we connected on some level, and he won't ever know that I lied to him. It's literally the perfect scenario. Then why do I have this weird hollow feeling in my heart now?

Not for the first time today, I scrunch up my face and shake my head. I can't dwell on these thoughts right now.

I step out of the shower and slip into the plush hotel bathrobe – it feels like I'm wrapping myself in a cloud of comfort. One of the best parts of staying at a hotel is the bathrobe, second only to the feeling of plopping down on a neatly-made hotel bed.

I pick out a black sheath dress that is appropriate for the cocktail party and the subsequent light dinner that's on the agenda. The silk hugs my form elegantly, a modest slit rising up to just above my knee.

I painstakingly blow dry my hair and style it in soft waves. Usually I am dash of concealer, a swipe of face powder, and a smidge of tinted lip balm kind of girl, start to finish done in five minutes max. Nice and presentable while minimizing the effort, and more importantly maximizing my sleep time or couch time depending on the hour. But today I decide to go for the whole shebang, carefully applying each step. I step back to study the reflection in the mirror, and I like what I see.

I guess I've always had a vain streak. There are days, like today, when I can't stop looking in the mirror and thinking that I look good, beautiful even. But then other days, I can't bear the sight of myself without cringing, convinced that I'm literally an ugly troll that just crawled out of its cave. I read somewhere that it's related to our hormone cycle. It's always the hormones somehow at the root of all things, those pesky little troublemakers that control our lives.

Checking the time, I realize I'm running late. Usually that would bug me, but today I find myself still feeling oddly okay with it. Taking the time to look my best matters today because...Well, because it does. This is a nice event and I want to look good and feel good when I mix and mingle. Absolutely no other reason I put in so much effort. None whatsoever. Definitely not for any one particular person, who might not even be there for all I know.