Buy me flowers| PJM

F. 36

I skipped school yesterday. Hobi called the principal, announcing that I wasn't feeling well and I wouldn't attend classes.

I woke up around noon and I realized that I actually had rested pretty well, considering the fact that I'd barely slept these past few days anyway.

My brother didn't go to work nor to his dance practices. He insisted in watching comedy movies all after-noon and I agreed. We had pop-corn and chips supplies, plus some orange juice that Hobi'd bought from the convenience store down the street. To be honest, it had been a really long while since I'd had so much fun with my brother, but I enjoyed this. The living room was filled with his bright laugher and I was chuckling because of the funny noises he's making every time a new scene started.

Now it's Friday, the day of handing the wonderful essay I've been working on last night. I can say it's better than the one I handed it last week. But I'm still not completely happy with it. However, unlike the other one, there's a part of me painted in the words of this essay. There's a piece of my heart beating in this one and I hope my teacher will realize that. I need him to realize that.

That's why, during the whole class I sit silently at my desk, carefully watching my teacher who was briefly going through the essays we've handed in today. I lost count of my breaths, which was why I grew even more impatient for the class to end.

And eventually, it does.

Students start to pack their things, happy smiles on their faces because it's Friday and they can spend their weekend just doing nothing or hanging around with their friends. I think I would've been happy as well if I had been them.

I don't rush to leave the class. I was waiting for the alarm sound.

So it comes.

"Yuna, come here, please!" I hear my teacher calmly calling.

I can't understand if he's calm because he's dissapointed or if he's calm because he's happy with my work.

So I rush to the teacher's desk.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his face, making me realize a long discussion is coming up. Good, bad, I can't tell. All I know is that I should take a deep breath and listen to what he has to say.

"When I was your age, I broke up with the girl of my dreams."

I look at him with curiosity. Whatever I would've been expecting, it wasn't that.

He looks at me.

"I'd had a crush on her ever since we were in primary school and when she finally got to like me back, I was so happy."

"What happened?" I ask, foreseeing the plot twist in this story.

He sighs.

"Life happened." He says. "We dated, we were teenagers in love, everything seemed to be perfect."

And suddenly, his expression became serious. There was a heaviness in this gaze that warned me I'm not ready for what's next.

"Soon enough, we started to travel together, go to parties together. I was following my dream of majoring in literature studies at that time, meanwhile she wanted to be a musician."

I shiver. This scenario sounds awfully familiar.

"Both of us were pretty popular in our group of friends and therefore, we were going to a lot of parties together, holding a lot of meetings with our friends. So you can imagine drinking wasn't something unusual for us."

He sighs.

"Our relationship grew strong, stronger. And I was about to realize it was too strong to be a healthy relationship. She was the heart of any party and I remember admiring that feature of her so much. Because I've never been the energetic type. But she was. So I was never worried when she was going past her 5th can of beer. It was just alcohol to us, screw yourself up tonight and wake up with a headache next day."