Chapter Eight #10
‘Go on, I’m waiting.’
‘Um, um, er, but why are you so agitated about it?’ It’s now Timira’s turn to find herself in a spot.
Aila!
‘Huh, why would I be agitated? I’m just, you know, curious! Why can’t I be?’ Timira speaks in a high-pitched, agitated voice.
Hanee had been a little suspicious since watching Haneul hovering around Timira on the terrace, followed by his excessive interest in what Timira had read on her phone. She had wondered if her boss had a thing for Timira, but had dismissed the thought since everyone knew that he was off the market.
Something’s definitely up with these two! Timira seems sure of it.
‘Well, if you really don’t care, then forget what you thought you saw, Seonbae. Or take my word for it—there is absolutely no secret I’ve kept from you!’
Timira is unconvinced but doesn’t press any further, fearing it might reveal more of how she feels about Haneul.
My stupid mouth is going to be the end of me! Let me strategize and find a better opportunity to corner Hanee.
‘If you say so …’ Timira shrugs nonchalantly and looks away with a little wave at Hanee’s face.
And nearly freezes as she catches Haneul watching her intently.
As their eyes lock, she can feel his gaze bore into her skin, and every cell in her body is lit up.
Her heart sinks deep inside the pit of her stomach, only to do a somersault and leap outside her body.
His mouth slowly dips on one side to reveal the most handsome and devilish lopsided smile Timira has ever seen, and she feels like a million fireworks have gone off in every part of her.
Starry-eyed, she’s about to smile back when her trance is rudely interrupted by one of her co-workers who has walked up to Haneul’s bucket seat and is now whispering in his ear.
Haneul is up in a flash and out of the VIP stand the entire SecondSkin team is seated in.
Muttering expletives under her breath, a crestfallen Timira turns her head away and inside the tub of corn precariously held between her thighs all this while.
But before she can stuff her face with the fistful of it she has gathered, the stadium erupts.
‘Seoul Stealers FC have drawn first blood. Their marquee signing for the coming season, the world-famous Japanese-Brazilian wonderboy Rodrigo, has brought samba magic to Korea,’ the emcee announces, his voice booming across the stadium and ringing in Timira’s head.
Rodrigo’s face is plastered on every giant screen around, every camera is focused on him.
As if on cue, he runs up to one of them, and makes the heart and kiss sign that he had devised for Timira and would make after scoring every goal while they were dating.
Timira nearly chokes on the corn that had finally made their way from her hand to her mouth in an effort to stop herself from cussing out loud.
Coughing and spluttering, she sends bits and pieces of mushy corn flying around.
‘Seonbae, you okay? Here, have some water!’ Hanee extends a bottle to Timira. ‘ Jeonjeonhi , Seonbae. Drink slowly.’
Timira pats her own head lightly and takes gentle sips out of the bottle.
‘Crap, my shirt is ruined. I’ve got corn and cheese all over. God, I’m such a klutz!’
‘You want a wet tissue? I have some in my bag.’
‘Nah, I’ll have to wash this off. Cheddar smells like rotting feet!’
How does she know what rotting feet would smell like? Hanee wonders but doesn’t ask.
Picking up her satchel bag and ducking so as to not disturb those in the rows behind her, Timira steps out of the stands and breathes for what feels like the first time in a long time.
Ah, finally! I’m not going back in until the game is over. God, such a relief to not have to look at that stupid face!
Somehow resisting the urge to rub some spit on the stain, Timira carefully squeezes some soap on to her palm and with a few drops of water from the sensor tap quickly works up a lather.
A minute or so of frenetic rubbing and generous amounts of water-slapping later, the near-entirety of her satin blouse is wet and limply sticking to her bosom.
Yaar, what the hell! Why today of all days when I’m wearing this ridiculous cone bra? Offo! Why do I even own this? Who do I think I am? Marilyn Monroe?
Yanking the stubborn blouse off her skin to keep it from sticking, Timira absent-mindedly walks out of the washroom and manages to nearly bump into Stephanie who deftly skips away to avoid a collision.
‘Whoa! Careful, Ms Marak. You might want to watch where you are going!’
Preoccupied with her shirt, Timira has no time for her snarkiness and mumbles an apology without feeling particularly apologetic. Without waiting for a response, she keeps walking. Away from Stephanie. Still fiddling with her shirt.
But Stephanie isn’t having any of it.
‘Nice choice of lingerie there!’ she giggles loud enough for even the janitors loitering around to hear.
This time, she manages to catch Timira’s attention. But
Timira keeps walking.
Every dog has their day, kuttiya! Just you wait.
Looking down at her shirt that is refusing to dry and continues to stick to her skin, she mutters under her breath, chiding her chest, ‘You moron! Kara di na beizzati? Have all the fun you can tonight. When we get home, you are going to the back of my closet and staying in the darkness forever!’
Stepping out of the stadium building, Timira decides she wants to sit out the rest of the game.
Feeling like a smoke, she skips around trying to look for a smoking zone when she notices Haneul near the parking lot, resting against a wall and blowing out smoke rings.
Recalling their little eyes-eyes-baby game in the stands before it was ruined by one of their colleagues, she suddenly feels giddy at the thought of seemingly having the opportunity to resume it.
Something was wrong with that dream I had the other night. If anyone here can be a gumiho, it is this guy. I mean, just look at him, would you? How is it even humanly possible to be this hot?
Haneul, oblivious of Timira’s lascivious gaze, unbuttons the top of his shirt and pinches his Adam’s apple lightly.
Timira gulps loudly and takes a couple of steps forward for a better, closer look.
She hadn’t paid much attention before, but he’s dressed a little less formally than usual.
He has lost the tie and is wearing skinny pants that reveal a tush only very few are blessed with.
That butt can put JLo to shame , Timira observes. I wonder if it is insured , she wonders with a wicked smile.
She continues to watch him as he stubs the cigarette but doesn’t move. Looking to investigate further, Timira moves closer and positions herself behind a potted plant.
Stealth mode on , Timira tells herself and feels a thrill in her bones.
From behind the plant—more shrub, less plant—she can finally tell that he has been on a call all this while.
She can see his lips move vigorously but cannot hear a word.
Something about the frown he’s wearing, his manner, the way in which he’s gesturing and moving his hands around tells Timira that the call isn’t a lot of fun.
She has half a mind to interrupt him and save him , and is debating if she should when a woman’s voice pierces the air.
‘Haneul! Haneul- a !’
Distant at first, but getting progressively closer.
Timira has been in a half-squat position for a while and her knees are now starting to wobble. But she is frozen in her spot. All she can do is watch, wide-eyed, as a beautiful girl runs up to Haneul and hugs him from behind.
* * *
Awestruck Timira has been gaping at the beautiful mystery girl for a while now.
Long, luscious, light wavy locks with strawberry-blonde balayage highlights frame a small face with a soft but perfectly chiselled jawline.
Her skin is flawless and glowing even in the harsh white stadium lights.
Her chin is pointy and sharp and she has foxy eyes that look enchanting even without make-up.
She’s rocking a pair of low-waist bootcut denims in black with a white shirt tucked into them.
In the sky-high heels that she looks to be extremely comfortable in, she’s nearly as tall as Haneul.
Keep your standards high, not your heels , she reminds herself.
One time she wore stilettos to a terrace party, and toppled over after two drinks while dancing to Sukbhir’s ‘Ishq Tera Tadpave’ .
She woke up the next morning massively hungover with multiple cuts on her arms—arms that had protected her from worse injury when she fell, pulled muscles in her chest and shoulders—and a limp for the following several weeks.
She now wears heels only occasionally. When her confidence alone isn’t enough to make her feel tall.
Timira and heels are a match made in hell, she is convinced.
Especially after the recent incident when she tripped and fell into Rodrigo’s arms on her first day at the SecondSkin office.
Haneul and the mystery girl have been chatting for what seems like an eternity to Timira.
He was quick to disengage himself from the hug, she had observed gleefully, but matters had only gone downhill since.
He had gotten off the phone call in no time.
She has touched his hair more than once, fixed the lapel of his jacket, and he has shown no sign of displeasure.
Why am I here watching this? What was I expecting?
No wonder he paid no attention to me when we met.
Oh, Timmy, you fool. This is why Bhaskar says I should stay in my aukaat.
This girl is way prettier than I ever will be!
No? Should I take a photo and send it to Alice?
No, no, no, I’m no stalker! I’m a secret service spy. Mata Hari hoon main. Hari Om Hari!