Sequel of the book "The Frost"...
Can anyone tell how can one news be good and bad at the same time?
let me give an example.
Voyager 2, NASA's deep space probe received a mysterious signal that can answer humankind's most sought question- "Are we al...
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The bright fullmoon was hanging above the seoul forrest; beginning to lean at one side of the sky casting long, gilded fingers through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the the estate. Jin's house was a masterpiece of modern architecture-vast, echoing with opulence, and, until Arya had moved in, profoundly lonely.
Jin stepped through the foyer, loosening his tie with a sigh that had been building since his morning briefing. He expected the usual respectful silence of his sanctuary. Instead he heard music. Loud music.
Not elegant jazz. Not classical piano. Some aggressively cheerful retro pop song was echoing through the hallway.
The scent hit him first. Paint. Fresh paint. He rounded the corner into the main gallery-a space usually reserved for high-end art-and stopped cold.
His previously monochrome gallary looked like a small warzone.
Newspapers covered half the floor. Paint rollers were abandoned on the floor.
The pristine grey wall was now a chaotic, sun-drenched explosion of "Solar Flare" yellow.
Arya stood on a professional-grade ladder, her silhouette outlined against the splash of color. She looked like a whirlwind of artistic destruction. There was a smear of yellow across her nose, a messy streak down one cheek, and her oversized T-shirt was stiff with paint.
"Arya," Jin said, his voice dropping into that familiar, controlled cadence that usually meant business.
She spun around, nearly losing her balance. Her grin was reckless, wide, and entirely devoid of guilt. "Jin! You're home! Don't look at me like I just breached a restricted zone. The lighting in this wing was offensively depressing. I decided we needed a permanent sunrise."
"A sunrise," he repeated, eyeing the drops of yellow paint now decorating his custom Italian marble floor. "In the gallery."
"It pops, doesn't it?" She climbed down, her movements fluid and easy. She walked right up to him, stopping within the intimate perimeter of his personal space. She smelled like turpentine and peony. "Besides, you're always so serious in this house. I thought it was time you started living in color, Mr. Kim."
"It is yellow."
"And it will be your new favourite colour from now on."
"That sounds even more dangerous."
Arya gasped dramatically. "You don't trust my artistic vision?"
Jin looked around the room. "There are handprints on the floor."
Arya glanced downward. "...That's unrelated."
Jin pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known this would happen eventually. The woman had moved into his house exactly eight days ago and somehow transformed his carefully organized existence into complete chaos.
