Love Premonition (恋の予感)

Shit.

It happened again—you noticed the way the sun hits her just right, making her hair glow with a soft honey brown. The way her cheeks puff like the softest marshmallows when she laughs: a sweet sound you’d record on vinyl and rewind over and over and over again until the notes embed themselves into your ear canal. The way each footstep seems so graceful, carefree, weightless, without fear of ever misstepping.

And yet, you don’t even know her name.

It’s been a good couple weeks since she first arrived—out of nowhere, like a bolt from the blue, landing into English Lit and uprooting your entire life. New girl introduced herself during your regularly scheduled nap in the back of the classroom (“No worries," you figured, "I’ll get her name eventually.”), but with each passing day of slowly sinking deeper into a quicksand of infatuation, it’s hard not to feel like the world’s worst stalker by knowing everything about her except her name.

It started with a simple hunger.

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Ill-prepared as always, you stare through the glass of the vending machine, clutching your empty stomach with one hand and your emptier wallet with the other. The shiny aluminum of the chip bags seems to mock you with their sheen, safe behind the confines of their metal box. Right as you’re about to drive your fist into the machine, you hear a voice next to you, so clear and pristine you thought it was your imagination.

“Which one’s good?” 

"Hm?“ You find yourself staring at the side profile of what you can only imagine to be an angel in real life—an angel hungry for greasy potato chips.

"Which one’s good?” she repeats, turning to face you. “I can’t decide.”

For a moment, you forget all about the pang of hunger in your stomach as your eyes trace over her soft features. Curiosity or some inane instinct to humiliate yourself, you can’t seem to stop staring, even as the seconds crawl by and it’s becoming more obvious how much of a creep you must look like.

“Uh, hello?” Mystery girl waves a hand in front of your face, breaking the daze you were in. You figured she’d be running to the nearest police station by now, so the fact that she’s still here, and smiling—Christ, what a sight—is either a miracle, or the start of your demise.

“Oh, right, uh,” you mutter, “I usually just get salt and vinegar.”

“Hmm…”

She ponders your words, bringing a slender finger to her chin as if what flavor she decides on will have some bearing on the fate of the universe—with the way she looks, ethereal and impossibly out of place in this backwater town, it just might.

“They’re all the same, y'know,” you utter for no particular reason. “Greasy, cheap, always half-empty.”

She chuckles, and you feel your chest tighten. “Maybe so. But I’m craving chips today.”

You watch as she shoves a crisp dollar bill into the machine and presses the fading blue buttons—the same combination for salt and vinegar chips. The vending machine whirs to life, creaking as if it’s on its last breath, and drops one—no, two crinkly bags of chips to the bottom.

“Ooh, nice!” Mystery girl grins at you. Self-centered as it is, you can’t help but feel partially responsible for that smile, even if all you did was inadvertently raise her cholesterol. “Here.” She pushes one of the bags into your chest.

“For what?”

She shrugs. “Sharing is caring.”

“Right, but—”

“Just take it.” With a smile like that, how could you say no? You take the small bag of chips from her and stare at—it’s the same light blue, with the same old logo and the same feeling of getting ripped off as you weigh it in your palm. Yet, there’s something peculiar about it; not bad, just different. Like a Macguffin, or whatever your English Lit teacher called it—the bullet that’ll send you falling into the abyss before you notice the trigger being pulled.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll pay you back next time—”

She’s gone as quickly as she came.

As the aluminum bag crinkles between your fingers, your hunger is all but gone, replaced by something else. Something you can’t quite put to words; something far bigger than you could’ve ever imagined.

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Then, it was an instinct.

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You dribble the ball against the concrete, eyes focused, knees primed and ready to dash at the first opening. A bead of sweat drips from your chin, but you ignore it—on the court, there’s no room for distractions. From all the time you’ve known him, Min has always been a little taller, a little more muscular, but your skills overshadow any physical advantage he thinks he has.

Impatient as always, he reaches for the ball, only for him to misstep as you weave to the side and drive the ball to the hoop for an easy layup. Min slumps to the ground in utter defeat.

“You suck, man,” you joke, offering him a hand.

“Whatever.” Annoyed and exhausted, he swats your hand away. “The sun was in my eye that time.”

“Was it in your eye the other 20 times I scored?”

“Fuck you,” he snaps, making an unsuccessful attempt at kicking your leg before succumbing to the warm concrete underneath him. While he rests, you shut your eyes, feeling the breeze as it brushes past your cheeks. There’s a simple joy of a sunny weekend on the court with your best friend—a thoroughly uncomplicated way of living, void of whatever headaches life tends to throw your way.

And then she shows up.

The second you open your eyes, you see her again, walking arm in arm with Chaewon, the resident chatterbox of the school. As usual, she’s going off about some drama you don’t bother to keep up with, arm gesticulating wildly, while Mystery Girl just nods along like she somehow understands every bit of Chaewon’s barely coherent ramblings. Mystery Girl laughs, and you feel your chest tighten like it did before in front of the vending machine.

“Hey, Min,” you utter, eyes glued to the pair on the sidewalk.

“Hm?”

“What’s that girl’s name? The one next to Chaewon.”

Min brings his head up just enough to see the two of them in the distance. “Oh, her? I don’t know, we don’t share any classes. She’s hot though,” he chuckles.

Something about the way he regards her, like she’s just another pretty face, irks you for reasons you can’t put to words. You open your mouth to say something, but bite your tongue instead—what would you even say? He’s not wrong, but… But what? You barely even know the girl. You don’t even know her name.

With a huff, you pick up your basketball and toss it at Min’s face.

“Agh! What the hell, man?!” he barks, rubbing his cheek.

“Get up. Let’s run it back.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Quit being a bitch and get up!” you say a little too aggressively. You peer cautiously to the side, hoping the girls didn’t hear your outburst. Thankfully, Chaewon’s loudmouth seems to have covered up for you

“Alright, fine!” Begrudgingly, Min grabs the ball and heads to the three-point line. “I don’t even know why you’re in such a bad mood, you’re not the one who lost…” he mutters under his breath.

He checks the ball to you, starting the game. From behind him, you see Chaewon and Mystery Girl slowly nearing the basketball court. You try to focus on the game, but it gets increasingly harder to ignore the fluttering feel in your stomach that grows with every step she takes. Should you say hi? Give her a nonchalant nod? God, what is her fucking name??

Min rushes to the side, and you barely move in time to block him. He fakes back, sending you tripping to the ground and giving him an easy three-pointer.