Hashtag, HUGOT

Prologue

This is a story about how my crush and I were never meant to be.

Or so I thought.

In this story, you'll read a lot of things I'd like to point out, about why he and I, literally, cannot be together. But, since my mind is clouded by flowery thoughts of his beautiful, ethereal face―most especially when he's in my visual boundaries―I keep forgetting why any reason would even matter.

You see, it all started in grade school.

Well, actually, it started at work.

My name is Ariadne I. Reyes. People usually say my name sounds foreign, and I really can't blame them for that. My mom is just overly fund of complicated names. Her name is Marie, a name so common that she swore she'd name a unique name for her child. Thus, Ariadne.

And, just so you know, it is pronounced with a silent "d" even though originally, it's supposed to be Aree-ad-nee, but my dad insisted it's Aree-yan. The old folks at home call me Rian. And my friends just call me Ann.

I go with the name Ann so you can say that the name Ariadne―note, it's Aree-ad-nee. And if you think you read it as a shortcut for Ariana Grande well, look again!―does not like being acknowledged by the populace. Just imagine how devastated my mom felt.

I'm 22 years old when I started my third job. Still single. Even though people say I'm pretty, all I can say is that I'm pretty much NBSB. No doubt there must be something wrong with my personality, but then again I go by the motto: If you can't accept me for who I am, then you are not the man for me. And that's a shout out to all the douchebags out there who goes with stereotype girls (i.e., long wavy or straight tresses, slim body, make up, fancy clothes, lasses that look more like an accessory). Nope, I'm not bitter, I'm just saying.

Hashtag, hugot.

Yea, I'm also pretty. Pretty mundane. Now don't be fooled by the unique name because I think my crush took the bait on this one. That's one of the reasons why we are not meant to be, because he only fell for the name that sounded so familiar to him. And why the memory of my name stuck to him was because it's really uncanny.

My crush...

Well, my crush wasn't really my type of guy. He's all buffed and has a voice that sounds like it came from the depths of the earth. He's smart, unorthodox, and he's no aficionado when it comes to the latest trends. He has this―okay, I'd hate to admit this but―cool talent on knowing a gazillion songs, just give him the tune or the lyrics and he'd give you the title, you name it! He's good-looking, but I'm actually into chinito types like Xian Lim, or Mikee Lee... I can also make exemptions for guys like Paulo Avelino. And I guess it would suffice to say that, yes, my crush is an exemption.

And to further know more about my struggles with paasa-type of guys (oops! Did I just imply that to my crush?), I'll skip the rest of this long intro and get on with this story...