Somewhere Only We Know(44)

She was avoiding something.

I looked her in the eye. “What if you turn your passion into a job, and it stops giving you joy? Haven’t you ruined something you used to love?”

I held my breath. I was pushing it.

Her face transformed. A kind of cold wall went up in her expression and her shoulders pulled back. An aura of aloof untouchableness dropped like a curtain over her entire being. It was startling. This was Lucky with the media.

“Well, I don’t know. You should cross that bridge when you come to it, right?” Her voice was cool, her expression neutral.

Something felt lost then. No more warmth, no excitement. No belief in me. I regretted having to ask her that question, at having ulterior motives for it.

I knew this was a job, but I couldn’t lose her now. I needed to salvage the situation.

“Want to watch a movie?”





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


LUCKY


Jack was someone I recognized in my industry. Someone with drive, smarts, and natural instincts. But also someone who was sabotaging himself out of fear.

He found excuses not to do the thing he wanted to do. I wanted to shake him, to show him that he could. I didn’t know what kind of photographer he was, but that was almost beside the point. The one thing I’d learned from four years in K-pop was that hard work trumped talent on any given day.

I wanted to dig in deeper, but his last question froze up something in me. It was almost like my skin turned translucent and he could see everything inside and for the umpteenth time that day, alarm bells were going off.

I simply couldn’t figure out what they were warning me about.

“A movie?” I asked.

“Yeah, the theater’s next door. They’ll have popcorn.” He grinned.

Hm.

He shook his head at my hesitation. “I was kidding. How in the world could you possibly eat right now?”

“I’m a scientific marvel,” I said, already getting up.

Jack tied his still-wet long-sleeved shirt around his waist, paid for our food, and left his book behind with Sissi for safekeeping before we walked next door to the theater. Since it was only three o’clock or so, the evening crowd hadn’t arrived yet. I skipped in, excited to see what was playing, but stopped in my tracks.

“No way!” I screeched.

“What?!” Jack asked, alarmed.

I pointed at the poster in front of us: Wong Kar-wai Movie Marathon.

“Can you believe it?” I said, going up to it to run my fingers over the beautiful face of Tony Leung.

“Wow. A Wong Kar-wai movie playing in Hong Kong. Miraculous,” he said drily.

“A Wong Kar-wai marathon at the one movie theater we happen to be in when you’ve never seen one of his movies!” I refused to let Jack tamp down my enthusiasm. “Let’s see which one’s playing.”

The next movie, in twenty minutes, was In the Mood for Love. Unreal.

“You are so lucky!” I rhapsodized as Jack purchased the tickets. “This is like, the OG. Everything I know about Hong Kong? This movie”—I jabbed the poster for emphasis—“God, Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung are like, these untouchable, beautiful beings.”

“They look exactly the same today as they did in this movie,” Jack mused as we stood in front of the poster again.

“Asian don’t raisin,” I said.

He threw his head back and laughed for so long that I got embarrassed. “Have you never heard that before?” I asked.

“No!” he said when he finally got ahold of himself. I was pleased to have introduced something new to him. And I was glad to make him laugh so hard.

We got some popcorn and went into the theater, picking seats right in the middle. The theater was still lit up and the rows of comfy leather seats were mostly empty.

“So, why do you love his movies so much?” Jack asked as I picked the butteriest bits of popcorn to eat.

I munched for a few seconds while I thought about it. “I don’t know … they’re so lovely and moody. The soundtracks are perfect. The characters are flawed and mysterious.” I sighed happily. “And also … they’re kind of sad.”

“Sad?” he asked, settling back into his seat, his head leaning against the leather and his gaze sliding over to me. A heavy pitter-patter beat all the way down my ribs.

“Yeah, sad. A lot of times they’re love stories about people who … aren’t meant to be. You know from the beginning that they’re not going to end up together.”

“Doomed love?”

“Yeah.”

We were quiet, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.

At the end of today was a goodbye. Anything that could grow between us would be gone within hours, ephemeral and faded before it could even begin.

We were like the stars seen from Earth—a memory of something that was already finished.

The lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and Jack reached over the armrest to hold my hand, our fingers greasy with butter and salt.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


JACK


How I sat through a movie with this girl’s hand in mine was beyond me. Every once in a while I would feel her eyes on my face, and when I glanced at her, she would be looking at me expectantly. Waiting to see if I had the right reaction to whatever was on screen. A favorite scene probably. It was annoying and cute at the same time.