ă Itâs none of your business. We just met. ă
the statement is laughable, really.
with an offhand eye-roll and tilt of her head, yoona brushes off the barbed words, the cutting way the other girl is looking at her person â as if sheâs barely a step up from the dirt and grime covering her six-inch, killer heels. sheâs tall enough to look the other girl straight in the eye. theyâre wearing identical frowns, etched deep into their faces; the anonymous womanâs is decidedly sour, but yoonaâs is just bemused.
âof course itâs my business. iâm a girl, youâre a girl. doesnât take more than that to wonder why youâd willingly subject yourself to this torrent of rain when all youâre wearing is a white shirt.â
when all the other girl does is sullenly trail her gaze towards the ground, yoona heaves a sigh of frustration.
she pulls the hood of her sweater up with one hand; with the other, she grasps the girlâs wrist and shoves her company-issued umbrella into the girlâs porcelain fingers. âhere. before youâre totally soaked. maybe youâre an exhibitionist, maybe youâre not. for my conscience, take it. please.â









