All About You

Five

T ell me again, who’s wonderful idea it was to have a party on a Sunday?

I can still hear the loud singing of my relatives as my ears thrum from the overexertion of last night, blending itself with the screeching of the train. Today is the first official day at The Australian Film Institute , and I really didn’t want to spend it in a daze.

While it’s an hour trip away, I actually don’t mind the trek. I get to catch up on whatever I’m reading, and right now, I’m rereading To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, one of my favourite romance novels.

Except, as I thumb through the pages, the words merge together as I try to blink the remainder of sleep from my eyes.

Finally, my train approaches the last stop - Central station. I catch my reflection on the doors before it opens up. Staring back at me is a wide-eyed girl (with nice hair, I admit), in a Spirited Away tee, which I decided to wear in hopes of attracting some Ghibli fans as a conversation starter.

I really needed the conversation assistance today, especially after Orientation Week last week.

For five torturous days, my cohort fell victim to activity after activity of icebreakers, which I saw no need for, especially since our actual timetable required us to be in for only three days.

For five days straight, I suffered endless doses of imposter syndrome, as aspiring filmmakers boasted on and on of their practical camera skills, or their existing credits on short films. Over and over I listened to future cinematographers, screenwriters, and directors gush over their wideset ambitions of being the new Steven Spielberg, of their desire to create change with their touching narratives.

Me? I rambled on about how my favourite film is Pride and Prejudice (2005 version, duh), starkly contrasting their catalogue of Christopher Nolan or Quentin Tarantino favourites.

In fact, an aspiring VFX artist let me talk his head off over how I thought the Mr. Darcy hand-flex scene was a work of art.

The cherry on top, however, has got to be the weird looks I received when I told my peers about how I joined the film industry to adapt more novels into movies.

Honestly, were my ambitions so far fetched from the rest of the cohort? Storytelling is storytelling, no matter the form, isn’t it?

Truthfully, if I have to do one more icebreaker activity this week, I’ll actually rip my hair out.

Icebreaker Activity: Who Are Your Favourite Characters ?

It's the first thing I see when I walk through the doors of my screenwriting class, projected against the wall.

Great .

I spend the better part of the morning stammering to the aspiring production designer beside me about why Belle was my favourite fictional character. It’s because she’s a reader, like me, and the heroine in Beauty and the Beast, my favourite fairytale. The activity is followed by a lecture on characterisation, which I could actually enjoy, if it weren’t for the brain fog.

Remind me again never to do karaoke on a Sunday night.

Finally, the clock strikes 12, signalling lunch break, and my stomach grumbles on queue. I gather my items immediately, and zoom out the door. I can’t get out of the classroom fast enough.

“Hey Jas! How did you find class?”

Rose-coloured hair enters my peripheral vision and I turn just as Kiara’s pale arm brushes against mine, her pierced-lipped grin an instant mood-lifter. I met Kiara last week on the first day of O-Week, where we started talking about video games instead of sharing three fun facts about ourselves. She’s one of the few that I clicked immediately with from the icebreakers.

“It was okay,” I profess, shrugging a little. “But I’m exhausted from last night so I found it hard to really pay attention, you know?”

Kiara quirks a brow, and nudges my shoulder playfully. “Ooft, party a little too hard?”

I chuckle, shaking my head, “Not me, but my family did.”

“Goddamn, remind me to come over to yours.”

We emerge from the large glass doors of the building and onto the grassed field right in front. Picnic benches are scattered conveniently, and thankfully I spot one that’s empty. I pull out my leftover chicken adobo and rice from my bag, my tongue tingling in anticipation.

“Hey girls!”

Sauntering toward us is Diane, the last of our established film trio. Her caramel pixie hair is slicked back with star-clips, and her maroon-stained lips pull into a wide smile as she swings her legs over the bench beside Kiara.

Kiara and I met Diane in our shared screen business class, where we found she also shares a lot of our same interests in gaming, shows and movies.

“How’d you find the lecture this morning, Di?” I ask.

She scoffs, “Pfft, I was playing my little bakery game behind my laptop. I can’t wait till we get to the fun stuff.”

I laugh, because it’s true. We’re all a little impatient to get our hands on the big film cameras, and step onto those fancy film sets. Though, that’s probably not going to happen for a while.

My phone buzzes with a notification just as I’m about to push a spoonful of rice into my mouth.

Tita Lucie has sent 50 attachments

Lord - just how many photos did we take last night? That can wait. I’m about to turn my phone over, when a text from Lola pops up.

My skin prickles, and dread pierces my chest like a shard of ice. Lola sends another message, but this time it’s a photo.

It’s the one of Marlon and I, captured mid-laughter during our karaoke duet. My cheeks heat at the sight.

It’s so not what it looks like.

Heat continues to course through my neck as my family members react to Lola’s message with heart and laugh emojis. I’m so upset that I’m tempted to do something drastic. Like send an angry emoji.

“Uh, Jas? Are you okay?”

Diane’s voice snaps me from my bubble of fury and that’s when I realise my eyebrows are furrowed down, tensing my entire face. I relax my expression, heaving a resigned sigh.

“No, it’s my family.”

“Is everything okay?” Kiara asks, concerned.

I open my mouth, the explanation already at the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate. Should I tell them? I mean, I’ve only known them for a week and I don’t want them to think I’m weird. Making friends was one of the things I was most nervous about when beginning film school. My high-school best friend, Cheyenne, is currently on a gap year in Vietnam with her family, and though I update her daily, I physically need more friends. Especially at film school.

Oh, screw it. What better way to grow even closer to a new friend than feeding them personal, excruciatingly embarrassing gossip about yourself?

“Well, okay,” I shift a little in my seat, as Kiara and Diane lean in close, “Here’s the thing, my Mum’s best friend has a son called Marlon…”

They erupt into a melody of ooo’s , but I quickly wave it off.

“God no it’s not like that.”

“Is he cute?” Diane asks, wiggling her brows.

“Can I see a photo of him?” Kiara interjects, leaning forward.

I groan, and unlock my phone to show them the karaoke photo of Marlon and I.

Diane raises her brows and Kiara does a low whistle.

“Oh, he’s hot ,’ Diane observes, quirking her brow teasingly.

Someone set me on fire, please.

“He is,” Kiara agrees.

I peer at the photo, my eyes settling on Marlon. On his brown hair, on his tall figure beside my short one.

I’ve never seen the appeal in Marlon, the one that everyone around me seems to see in him. Even Cheyenne told me once that she finds him good looking.

To me, he looks…normal. Like, whatever, I guess.

“That’s all besides the point,” I continue, pocketing my phone. I heave a dramatic sigh

“I hate this guy.” My voice rises on the word hate.

“He’s an absolute nightmare, like, I literally spent my childhood fighting for my life with this guy, but for some reason, everyone around us thinks we’re perfect together. Even though we’re not .”

My hands slap the table at the last word. Diane and Kiara jump back, eyes widening.

“He’s always there, just this little pest on the wall that won’t ever leave.”

It’s only when the last word leaves my lips that I exhale a long breath out. Diane and Kiara stare at me, their jaws unhinged.

Now that’s what you call an icebreaker.

“That’s…” Kiara begins, glancing at Diane for help.

“Tough…” Diane finishes.

They both reach forward, patting my hand. I sniff, embracing this brief personal pity party.

“You know what you have to do?” Diane continues, smirking, “you have to hook up with someone else.”

I nearly choke on my own saliva at Diane’s bluntness. Kiara laughs cheekily in agreement.

“Yes, you need to get laid, Jas. That’s how you show your family you aren’t interested in this Marley boy -”

“Marlon,” I correct, though it doesn’t matter, “And what does…that have to do with helping?”

Diane wiggles her eyebrows.

“Trust me, it can help with everything. Especially your stress.”

Kiara and Diane chuckle together, but I still can’t help the heat that begins burning my cheeks. Sex wasn’t so much a taboo topic or anything in my household, but just based on how I was raised, it was very much…hushed. Which is why any mention of the topic had me blubbering like an idiot.

“I mean, maybe… ” I say, just to entertain them.

We erupt into a fit of giggles and then begin creating a list of our peers we find cute, with Diane expressing a particular interest in a ginger boy with glasses and Kiara lingering an interest on an Indian girl with a nose piercing. There’s definitely alot of cute boys in my cohort, but sadly, none are enough to catch my eye. There’s a black curly-haired boy I eyed last week, but that was it.

No one worthy enough for me to risk my family’s wrath for.

When the day finally ends, Kiara, Diane and I decide to grab early dinner at the mall right across from our building, yet it seems that every other university student has the same idea. Most of the cafe’s, restaurants, even the food court are full of hungry students and business workers. Giving up, we decide to explore the pathway just outside the mall and as we turn a corner, I spot a large sign that reads Books and Bricks . Wait - an actual bookstore? Right across my film school?

My pulse quickens instantly, and it’s like I’d taken a shot of alcohol, or espresso, or whichever liquid that makes your blood pump.

“A bookstore!” I exclaim, swivelling around to Kiara and Diane who’d fallen a few paces behind me, begin jumping up and down, pointing at the sign. They return my enthusiasm with amused expressions, and wave at me to go on forward, like I’m their child.

I zoom toward the double glass doors and push through. The inside is cosy, hugging me instantly. The aroma of books hits my nostrils, and I breathe it in deeply as if I’m some sort of addict. God, I love bookstores so much.

Three round tables occupy the entrance space, filled with books stacked high. Each table reads different signs, with one being The Hottest Romances Right Now , another reading #TrendingBooks and the last reading New Releases .

“Maybe your much-needed hook up is somewhere here,” Diane jokes and Kiara laughs. I, on the other hand, try to hide the fact that I am very delusional over the thought of meeting someone here, not to hook up with, but a someone that could be the love of my life.

A meet-cute at the bookstore is definitely a dream.

“Oh, if only life were as easy as the films we study,” I profess whimsically, raising my arms and spinning around overdramatically. Kiara and Diane watch me in amusement, until I hit my hip against something hard, and the moment is gone. I groan, stumbling forward, realising I’d hit one of the three central tables - The Hottest Romance Titles Right Now table.

Losing my footing, I clutch onto the stack of books in an attempt to steady myself.

Bad idea.

Bad, bad idea.

The tower begins to tip a little, and before my mouth can even form a shocked O , the top few books tumble downwards onto the ground.

No, not onto the ground. Onto the worker that’s crouched beside the table, sorting some stock.

“ Ouch !”

I freeze. If only someone could knock me out with a book stack right now.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so so sorry -”

That’s when the worker rises from his crouch, and meets my gaze.

Big, hazel green eyes. The worker has hazel green eyes. It’s the first comprehensible thought I formulate. He also has tawny strands of hair that’s long enough to brush over his eyebrows. One of them is raised, and I am unsure if he is amused or annoyed. Most likely the latter, since I’d just dumped books onto his skull.

“That was my fault,” I manage to say, after I remember that staring at a stranger without saying anything is not really normal.

That’s when the worker’s lips twitch into a smile.

“You’re a clumsy one, aren’t you?” he asks, and if voices were tangible, his would be silk.

Then, just like Angelica Schuyler in Hamilton, three fundamental truths cross my mind at the exact same time.

Wow, he’s properly pretty We’re in a bookstore This is 100% a meet-cute

It’s with these three fundamental truths, my extensive knowledge of romance movies and my parents’ love story, that I come to a conclusion.

I’ve just met the love of my life.