Jurin (pronounce: Ju-rin) pov
Dear Lord, I want only one wish-the same one I've been praying forever.I want you to punish everyone equally. Everyone should pay for their sins.
I can't stand it when people laugh and smile around me.
The priest's final blessing, "Go forth, the Mass is ended," drifted through the humid air.
Everyone around me, including myself, answered in unison: "Thanks be to God."
I stood up, smoothing the crepe of my dress. My legs ached as I finally turned to leave the church. But then-
"Oh! Dear, isn't it Jurin? You came today?" A woman's voice pulled me back.
I forced a polite smile, tilting my head toward the circle of women gathering like vultures.
"Yes."
They waved me closer, hands curling in invitation.
I hesitated.
Whenever they looked this serious, the conversation inevitably circled back to marriage- and I hated that.
Still, I stepped into their circle.
"What happened to you last Sunday? You didn't come-" A red-haired lady asked anxiously, as if we were old friends.
"I was sick, so I couldn't come," I replied, trying my absolute best to sound like a nice person.
"It must be hard for you since you live all alone."
"No, it's not so hard."
"Do you know what happened last Sunday?" one woman whispered, her tone conspiratorial.
"Yes, yes-Mr. Sank and that boy. Tch-tch!" Their whispers melted together, buzzing with excitement.
Sank Yvestine! (Read as Sank Ves-tine, y is silence)
That annoying fucker.
The rich, handsome man, perfect in every way, as if he had fallen from heaven, was a loving person. No one ever had seen such gentleman before.
I mean-the playboy! I usually see parading around with different women.
I wonder if I start telling the truth about him here, who knows how this lady will picture him in their mind since they blindly respect him.
I tuned them out, uninterested. But before I realized it, words spilled from my mouth.
"Mr. Sank Yvestine! I saw him yesterday with a different beautiful lady again. To be honest..." I leaned in close, whispering like it was juicy gossip. Their eyes lit up. "He's a total playboy. I've seen him with so many women."
I let the pause stretch, watching their hungry faces. A sly curve touched my lips. "His personality didn't match his face. Isn't it?"
I'd said my piece, expected their faces to light up with scandalous excitement, but instead, their smiles faltered.
Their faces tightened. A cage of tension slammed shut.
Why aren't they saying anything??
One lady laughed awkwardly "Uh... hahaha... Mr. Sank," her voice trembling as she said his name.
I felt a sudden jolt of unease as everyone's gaze shifted behind me.
Slowly, I turned-and there he stood.
The guy I was back-bitching just now was standing right behind me.
Heat rushed to my face with embarrassment. "Heh..." A pathetic sound escaped me.
I dropped my gaze instantly, unable to hold his.
"Oh dear! She didn't mean it..." One of the ladies hurried toward him, desperate to smooth things over.
"Are you feeling well, Mr. Sank? Is your headache any better?"
The others encircled him, their chatter all concern and fluttering attentions.
The voices began to fade in my ears and vision. Their backs were to me now. I was standing all alone behind them.
The person everyone wants to hear from, it's him, not me.
The world had shifted; I had become invisible. Forgotten.
My cheeks burned with the sting of humiliation.
But I didn't say anything wrong. He is a playboy. Only I noticed the truth. A handsome face and polished manners don't change what he is.
I should've walked away. I should've ignored their gossip like I usually did. Why did I stop and gossip about someone I didn't even know properly?
I slipped out the heavy oak door, its hinges groaning a farewell.
I stood by the roadside. With no bus stop nearby, I had no choice but to wait for a taxi. Finally, one stopped. I climbed into the back seat, relief loosening my shoulders.
"What are you waiting for? Drive." I told the driver, who looked like he was waiting for someone.
"Sorry, ma'am," the driver said, glancing at me through the mirror. "One more passenger is coming. Please wait a second."
The door opened.
And he slid in beside me.
Sank Yvestine.
I felt the slightest brush of his sleeve against mine. I flinched, pulling my arm in. The car seemed to shrink around us. I could feel the silence, a heavy, suffocating thing that was so much worse than any humiliation I ever felt.
Of all the cars in this city, why did he have to choose mine? Can't he wait a bit?
"The hell?" I snapped, the sound pathetic and small even to my ears. "Tell your passenger to sit in front."
Sank Yvestine covered a smirk with his fingers-an intimate mockery that slammed into me like ice. The driver's voice quavered: "Ma'am, please... he's my customer, too."
I pulled away from him, my body pressed against the door, putting as much distance between us as the seat would allow.
His scent-spice and smoke-swirled around me, suffocating. And the space between us felt impossibly small. I was trapped, every heartbeat echoing the mistake of ever opening my mouth.