second chances Of Blossom

First-Class turns south

Tzuyu

Monday 28/04/2025

I love flying.
But now he has to ruins it for me.
It's an escape for me.
But now is not.
There's nowhere to be, it's like surrendering to fate.
But I don't like this fate.
Fate was always such a hard concept for me to understand, but I bought into it when necessary, like on the plane or the subway.
When I fly, I allow myself to believe in fate simply because it's too tedious to worry about whether or not the pilot is pouring whiskey in his coffee.
I let everything go when fly, just like when I play the Guzheng.
Guzheng! I smile.
Dad teaches me how to play Guzheng when I was eight. I smile at the thought about dad.
My magic clip. I quickly grab it out from my jacket pocket.
An indigo plastic hair clip, I clip it on.
"It'll grow back," dad said.
I was four years old. Apparently, I had done what most kids of that age do.
I cut my own hair.
"Daddy's going to be mad at me," I cried.
I thought that if I cut my hair, it will immediately make me ugly, and everyone would notice how ugly I'm for them to stop calling me a pretty doll.
I'm not a doll!
I dislike the fact that people have to stops and stares or even touch my face.
I cut a pretty wide chunk out of my bangs and sat in front of the mirror for probably an hour. Waiting for myself to turn ugly.
I picked the straight dark brown strands up off the floor and help them in my hand, regret and contemplating how I could secure them back to my head when I began to cry.
Nothing is changed except for an uneven bang.
When dad walked into the bathroom and saw what I had done, he just laughed and scooped me up. He's not even mad at me.
He positioned me on the countertop.
"No one's going to laugh at you or even notice, Tzu," he promised as he removed something out of the bathroom cabinet.
"I just happen to have a piece of magic right here." He opened up his palm and revealed the purplish-blue clip.
"As long as you have this in your hair, everyone will never know." He brushed the remaining strands of hair across and secured the clip in place. He then turned me around to face the mirror. "See! Good as new!"
I looked at our reflection in the mirror and felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
I wore that clip in my hair every day for fourteen years.
I smile to the thought that he still doesn't know the real reason why I cut my hair.
Now that I look back on it, I realize he probably told Mr and Mrs Myoi what I had done. But when I was four, I believe in his magic.
I like his magic more than accepting my fate.
I favor my dad in all the ways that count as I don't know much about my mother.
We had the same dry sense of humour, the same personality, the same love of music, the same laugh.
I miss him so much. I wish he's still here with us. I sigh and rest my head against the head cushion and incline my chair into a bed.
I close my eyes, erase the sad thoughts and try to imagine that I'm in my old bedroom, my old, warm bedroom.

                   "Taric!" I scream out his name as I wake myself up.
Shit, I fall asleep.
I unfasten the buckle of my seatbelt and stand up. unbuckle
I better go checking on him, he must be crying his eyes out for me. My poor baby, mummy coming. Taric, mummy coming.
When I get there, both of them is sleeping. My baby Taric is sleeping on his chest hugging him like a koala bear.
My heart just stings a little as my baby is so easy to sleep with a handsome stolid stranger and cuddling him.
I just stand and stares at them. They do looks like father and son, though and aww, they look so cute sleeping together.
If only I can find Taric's father, he needs his daddy loves too. Taric will be much happier. I sigh and realize I'd been standing here and staring at them for God know how long. I should better head back to my seat.
I glance at Taric seat is empty. What a waste of money as the baby will always want to sleep next to their parents.
I shake my head as I step forward, wait. Hang on, that is Taric's seat and its empty.
I can sit here and watch Taric for a bit until the flight attendant comes and tell me off.

         "Angel, don't," he begs, grabbing me by the arm, trying to pull me to him.
"My name isn't Angel," I say, freeing myself from his iron grip. "It's Tzuyu." I don't know why I clarify what my name is because it's not likely he'll remember this conversation tomorrow.
He's gripping the armchair so tightly his knuckles are white. At first, I think he's about to get sick, but then I realize how incredibly wrong I am.
He is not sick.
He is crying, hard. So hard he isn't even making a sound.
I don't even know the guy, but the obvious devastation he's experiencing in his dream is difficult to witness.
I look at my seat and back to him, wondering if I should leave him alone in order to give him privacy. The last thing I want to do is get tangled up in someone's dream.
My first instinct is to walk away, but for some reason, I find myself oddly sympathetic toward him even though he'd been a jerk to me.
His pain actually appears genuine on his face in his sleep and not just a blank canvas like this morning.
I lower myself back to Taric's seat and touch his shoulder. "Mr SJ?"
"My name isn't Mr SJ," he slurs. "Kim Taehyung."
"Okay, Kim Taehyung. Whoever you are. Can just go to the la-la land dream instead? because my son is sleeping in your arms. Just be careful not to drop him, please."
"I'm so sorry, Angel," he says, lifting a hand out and about to stand up. I reach my hand over to stop him and he grabbing my hand tight and pulls me toward him, burying his face in the crevice between my neck and shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
I have no idea who Angel is or what he did to her, but if he's hurting this bad, I shudder to think what she's feeling.
I gently push him back into his chair. "I won't let you go. I'll never let you go!" He says as grabs my hand and clenches on it so tight.
he releases a heavy sigh.
I stare at him silently, allowing him to keep hold of my hand until he's quiet and still.
I pull my hand away from him but he quickly grabs it back and gripping on it tighter. ouch.
I guess I have to stay by his side for a few minutes longer.
   Even though he's asleep, he somehow still looks as if he's in a world of pain. His eyebrows have frowned, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern.
For the first time, I notice a faint jagged scar, about four- inches long, from his left side neck that runs smoothly down to his collarbone.
I have the strange urge to touch it and run my finger down the length of it, but instead, my hand reaches up to his hair.
I stroke his hair, comforting him, even though he may not deserve it.
He may deserve every single bit of the remorse he's feeling for whatever he did to Angel, but at least he's feeling it.
I have to give him that much. Whatever he did to Angel, at least he loves her enough to regret it.