His lips touch my cheek suddenly. A swarm of butterflies rises from my stomach and hammers my heart. It feels like my heart is ready to race out of my chest and disappear into the sunset. I am sure that I am one step away from passing out again. Right at that moment, our eyes meet. His beautiful green eyes are full of undisguised anger. With a flicker, it changes to adoration when he turns to the journalist. I almost clap my hand. His acting skills are top-notch.
"When did you meet?" The lady journalist gives me a look-over. I realize that I am still wearing my work uniform. I am bare feet. I have forgotten my shoes at my grandmother's house. I didn't wash my hair or properly comb it. There must be dark circles under my eyes because I barely had good sleep ever since I saw myself die in the future. Even without the mirror, I can imagine how I look. Perhaps, I should not have gone through this. Dying might be a better option than letting the nation see me like this.
