Somebody Does Love

Hannah

"Good morning, Abeoji! Eomoni!"  My cheerful greeting was a carefully constructed facade.  The sun-drenched dining room, with its gleaming surfaces and sophisticated decor, felt suffocating. 

My father, his face etched with the lines of years spent battling in the corporate world, barely acknowledged me.

My mother, her expression unreadable, sipped her tea, the delicate clinking of the spoon against the porcelain a counterpoint to the quiet tension in the room. 

I, however, felt a surge of defiance. I deliberately chose a piece of bacon, its crispness a small act of rebellion.  As I ate, I subtly angled my laptop, displaying a notification of a large payment received.  My father, catching a glimpse of the screen from the corner of his eye, paused in mid-sentence.  "Paid," I stated, my voice soft yet confident, the implication hanging heavy in the air. I worked as virtual assistant and website designer.

My father's smile, a rare and genuine expression, was a brief moment of warmth.  The arrival of my siblings and brother-in-law, however, injected a dose of icy tension into the room. 

My brother-in-law's smirk was a visible sneer as he drawled, "So, the prodigal daughter's back." 

I kept my eyes fixed on my plate, the clinking of my fork against china a small act of defiance. 

Henrick's hug was a genuine show of support, his hand briefly resting on my shoulder. 

Ronnie's question, "Anyone special?" was accompanied by a knowing glance at my brother-in-law, whose smirk widened. 

I looked directly at him, my eyes narrowed.  "I'm working hard," I said, my voice calm but resolute. "Unlike some who rely on family handouts."  The subtle shift in his expression, a flicker of unease, was my reward.

Ronnie's smirk dissolved, leaving him speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. 

Helene, ever the loyal wife, launched into a defense, her words a brittle shield against my pointed remarks.  "Just because you earn more..." she began, her voice tight with resentment. 

I rolled my eyes, the gesture a silent dismissal of her feeble attempt at justification. 

"Perhaps you should advise your husband to curb his arrogance," I countered, the words sharp and precise. 

My father's booming intervention, "Enough!" cut through the charged silence, a heavy hand silencing the simmering conflict. 

"Mianhaeyo, Abeoji," Helene and I mumbled in unison, the apology a thin veneer over the unresolved tension. 

I rose abruptly, escaping the suffocating atmosphere.  "I must leave, Eomonie, Abeoji," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil within. 

My mother's protest, "But your food..." was met with a curt explanation: 

"Lost my appetite.  And I have work."  The weight of unspoken resentments settled over me as I collapsed onto my bed, the exhaustion a heavy cloak. 

They called me lucky.  Perhaps.  But they didn't see the suffocating pressure of my father's relentless pursuit of perfection, the crushing weight of his expectations, the fear of failure that had been ingrained since childhood.  Failure wasn't an option; it was a punishment.

The façade of our perfect family—church every Sunday, unwavering devotion—masked a complex reality.  My siblings, my closest friends, were suddenly separated by an arranged marriage that left a gaping hole in our lives. 

Marcy, polite and distant, was an outsider in our tightly knit world, a stark contrast to the chaos that Ronnie brought into Helene's life. 

Ronnie, once a playful brother figure, had morphed into a tormentor.  His harassment, his lies to my parents, forced my hand. 

Palawan was a refuge, a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating pressure of my family. 

Then came the messages from Yoongi—an unexpected lifeline, a whirlwind of playful banter that shattered the monotony of my days.  His teasing, his laughter, was a breath of fresh air, a thrilling escape from the suffocating reality of my life.  But his presence, his playful threats, ignited a confusion that spiraled into something deeper, something more intense.  The morning I woke with only him on my mind, the realization hit me like a tidal wave—I was falling for him.  And that was terrifying.

It was a dangerous game, this clandestine connection with Yoongi. A part of me, the dutiful daughter, screamed warnings—"He's an idol. He's out of your league. Your father will never approve." A voice in my head kept repeating the words that made my heart shatter more into pieces. I know that voice is right. My father will expect me to marry someone wealthy, someone who will secure the family's financial future. 

The fear was a constant companion, a shadow lurking at the edges of my joy. But another part of me, a wilder, more rebellious part, whispered of possibilities—He's kind. He's funny. He sees me. This Yoongi, the one who saw beyond the carefully constructed façade of my perfect life, was intoxicating. The conflict tore at me, a silent battle waged within the quiet confines of my mind. Was it worth the risk? The potential for heartbreak was immense, the consequences potentially devastating. Yet, the thought of silencing my heart, of denying myself this unexpected connection, felt like a betrayal of my own spirit.  This isn't just about a boyfriend; it's about defying my father's carefully laid plans for my future, plans that don't include a Korean pop star.

My father's reaction was predictable—unbridled fury, bitter disappointment, perhaps even brutal punishment. He would exploit his influence, his power, to sever her connection with Yoongi.

I anticipated this, yet the thought of living with the question, What if? preyed on my mind. What if this was the love I had been longing for? What if I allowed fear to dominate my life, sacrificing my own happiness for the sake of conformity? The potential consequences were significant, but the potential for regret was far greater.

This decision, this act of defiance, thrilled and terrified me in equal measure.  Can I truly bear this? I questioned, a tear streaming down my cheek.  Do I possess the fortitude?  But the thought of a life without Yoongi, a life haunted by the constant "What if?", was intolerable. I would forge my own path, even if it was fraught with danger.

The "What if?" would be replaced with the certainty of my own choice.
Even if it meant exposing my own vulnerabilities.