Page 96 of You Had Me At Annyeong!
Timira laughs. Alice and Bhaskar have always been couple goals for her. Their relationship, wholesome inspiration.
‘Timmy, ignore him!’
Timira nods and continues to laugh.
‘Timmy, have you been calling aunty?’
‘Aunty who? Oh, aunty as in my mum? Um, yeah.’
She’s lying. She speaks with her father every day but has avoided her mother since the phone call in Jeju.
‘Recall when we last spoke, I mentioned that she had called?’
Timira has no recollection. She had been consumed by her discovery of Haneul’s identity at the time.
‘Timmy, please call her!’
Timira knows she cannot avoid her mother forever. She grumbles but promises Alice to call her before hanging up.
Once through with her laundry, Timira sinks her bum into the soft, cushioned, purple-coloured couch in her living room, and remembers her promise to Alice. Grabbing her phone, she long-presses a button to place a call to her mother. But the call doesn’t go through as it is cut by an incoming call from Haneul.
He wants to take her to a party.
‘I will pick you up at seven? Wear something Indian.’
Wear something Indian to a party? Daal mein kuch kala lag raha hai. What if I end up like Bridget Jones wearing that ridiculous bunny costume to that cancelled tarts and vicars party? I’ll be a laughingstock!
‘What’s that gorgeous thing Indian ladies wrap around themselves? That thing that looks like a sarong? I’m probably saying it wrong, but is it a “sorry”?’
Aww. ‘Saree. S-A-R-E-E.’ Timira giggles.
‘Right, saree. That.’
‘Why do you want me to drape one?’
‘Well, it’s a surprise! Now get off the phone and get to it. Chop chop!’
Timira is still a little worried about being seen with Haneul in her neighbourhood, not to mention around the office. Bhaskar’s grinning face holding up a stalker placard keeps popping up in her head, too. But she decides to not dwell on these thoughts.
I will take charge and not get played. I’m a strong, independent woman. And, what’s the point of worrying about being seen? Kal raat toh he dropped me home. Ab toh ho gaya jo hona tha! My life is a soap opera anyway!
She recalls how, like a true gent, he had gotten out of the car in a flash, got her door and walked her to her doorstep. And then proceeded to plant a deep, lingering kiss on her lips before she bade him farewell. And how he had waited until she had reached her third-storey flat and waved at him from her balcony.
Her stomach leaps and her chest pounds a little as she remembers the details.
‘Sure. Seven is good. See you!’
Seoulmate, Seoulmate, Tim’s got a day-ate,dil mera served on a play-ate, she hums to herself as she gleefully dives into the shower.
* * *
‘Roll your shoulders down and pull them back. Brace your core … here, breathe out and activate your corset muscles, don’t hold your breath … keep breathing. Breathe in as you lower the weight to your chest, out as you push it up. Yeah, that’s it … THAT’S IT!’
The trainer, a chiselled man in his early thirties, instructs with sincerity and with hawk-like eyes watches his pupil complete three sets of chest presses, ten reps each.
Reaching the end of her workout, she gets off the bench and makes her way to the treadmill. She plans to finish off with a twenty-minute run and is setting up the speed when a familiar voice calls out her name.
‘Mina-ssi! Fancy seeing you here!’
