In a crowded corner of Bangkok, a young man in his mid-twenties named Markl moved through the sea of tourists with a calm, almost detached pace. Headphones on, eyes half-dazed, he walked like a lone wolf, oblivious to the chaos swirling around him. Neon lights bounced off his dark clothes, painting him in shifting pinks and blues.
Then someone stepped directly into his path.
He looked up. A petite woman, maybe around twenty, stood boldly in front of him. Beautiful and cheerful her presence alone could make the most lonely man in the world smile. Her outfit looked like a love letter to chaos: mismatched colors, layered accessories, and hair with more personality than most people he’d ever met.
Her lips moved, but Markl heard nothing.
He slid one side of his headphones down.
“Hey, Mr. Protagonist!” she said, hands on her hips. “You're a Filipino right?”
“…Yeah.” Markl blinked at her, still surprised.
“You walk cool, act mysterious like a Wattpad main character…” She squinted playfully. “But you listen to P-pop? Cute but ironic.” She smiled like a happy kid proud of her discovery.
“What’s wrong with a P-pop song?” Markl shot back. His brows furrowed, annoyance creeping in.
“Nothing! I like them too.”
“You like them too? Thanks for the information I’m never going to use for the rest of my life,” he replied coldly.
She blinked, eyebrows rising.
He let out a long, exhausted sigh. “You stopped me just to say nonsense? You stand there acting cool and friendly — like the pretty girl’s best friend in a movie — but you’re actually nosy and mean. That’s the ironic part. And no… it’s not cute.”
She gasped dramatically, then smirked. “Someone knows how to clap back. Fine. One point for you.”
“I’ll take that point,” he said with a shrug. “Best comeback to a fallacy argument. Thank you for the recognition.”
“You’re mean,” she said, pointing a finger at him playfully. “You’re totally acting like the handsome, arrogant protagonist.”
“I’m not mean,” Markl protested. “And I’m definitely not some protagonist in your imagination. I’m just… a shy guy. Okay?”
“Are we done?” he muttered. “Can you stop blocking my way? I don’t want to shove short people today.”
“Hey!” she snapped. “I’m not short. My legs are just… shorter than average.”
“That makes you short.”
“Technically yes… but biologically not quite,” she argued proudly.
“What’s the difference?” he asked, dripping with sarcasm. “Technically short,” he said with air quotes, “equals biologically short. Your logic confused me more than optical illusions.”
“Okay, yes, technically I’m short. But biologically? I’m not short for a Filipina.” She winked.
He glanced down, pretending to calculate her height. “You’re still—”
He brushed past her and kept walking.
“Come on man, just give it to me!” she complained, following him like a persistent street vendor.
Markl ignored her and slipped his headphones back on.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡskf4xVdCtM
But she kept following — footsteps always two paces behind him.
Minutes passed. He tried to convince himself she was gone… until he glanced over his shoulder.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2s3RV8pWb4
Still there.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIJPzrjW3mr
Still talking.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfSZzFeDa6V
Still poking at his nerves.
His patience thinned by the second.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIqWMMbECuw
Something about her nagging — the persistence, the tone — clawed at an old memory he didn’t want to relive.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnqwgfXkXjD
He wanted it to stop.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe7eydHt86p
He wanted her to stop.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXISyQ9sBnF
He needed the noise to stop.
And then he snapped.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVzumsu6j8n
The emotion hit too fast, too loud, too raw.
“Will you stop following me, you fucking bit—!”
He choked on the last letter.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXiDWpYl9Sn
Regret punched him in the chest before the insult even fully escaped.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡstch9BNSTT
He clenched his jaw, realizing what he almost called her.
She stepped forward, finger pointed right at his nose.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh2cY7aK7Fe
“Oh, go on!” she dared him, voice rising. “Finish it! Maybe I am a bitch — like what you’re trying to say — but don’t you dare say it to my face when I’m literally just trying to convince you—”
She stood on her tiptoes dramatically, arms thrown wide like she was presenting a scientific discovery.
“—that I am not that short!”
She was furious…77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk7GJKIoTOw
but the way she puffed her cheeks like an angry kitten made the whole thing unintentionally hilarious.
He rubbed his forehead, regret heavy in his voice. “Okay… I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m just tired. I shouldn’t have said that. What can I do to make up for it?”
Her mood flipped like a coin. The fire in her eyes turned into a childish sparkle.
“Ice cream!” she chirped, eyes lighting up.
“Come on, follow me. I know a place.”
She bounced ahead with a jolly little stride, as if her shoes were made of pure sunshine.
“What the hell? Your mood changed faster than a bipolar—”
“Hey!” she snapped again, serious this time. “That’s offensive.”
“Nowadays everything’s offensive.”
“It’s better that way. Makes people think before saying something stupid, right?”
“You’re right. But it’s annoying too. People are fragile. Entitled. If you don’t agree with their opinion, you’re the enemy.”
“Ohhh… you’re talking about woke people.”
He nodded. “Lost myself for a moment there. So why is calling someone bipolar offensive again?”
“Well, Mr. Protagonist,” she began, explaining with passion, “you don’t label someone bipolar unless they’re clinically diagnosed. It’s not a word you can just throw around whenever someone’s mood changes.”
Markl raised a brow. There was intelligence behind her playful demeanor.
“So what should I call your behavior then? I’d like to learn something new.”
“It’s called mood swings,” she said proudly.
“Okay. From now on, whenever your mood switches instantly, I won’t call it bipolar — and I won’t label anyone else that way either.”
She nodded, satisfied, then added, “Bipolar is a real mental disorder. We should be more aware of how we use these labels. A lot of words we use casually are actually names of mental health conditions.”
“What are those?” Markl asked.
“Psychopath, Paranoid, Obsessive,” she listed. “People say them like jokes or insults — but they’re real diagnoses for real people. We should be careful. Words can hurt when we don’t understand them.”
“Bipolar, psychopath, paranoid, and obsessed — these are the words men commonly throw at women when we’re acting ‘weird,’ or when a guy is close to getting caught cheating by his girlfriend. Now it all makes sense where this enthusiasm of yours is coming from,” Markl replied.
“Exactly! Those are very controlling words against us. Men easily gaslight us into thinking we’re just being crazy — yeah, we’re the crazy girlfriends,” she said, waving her hands dramatically, pretending to act crazy to humor him and ease the sting of what she was saying.
Markl raised his hands like a suspect who just got caught. “My bad, guilty here, judge. Does my ignorance excuse me for the crimes I’ve committed?” he said, forcing a playful grin to lighten the mood.
“Ignorance is bliss, Markl, but for this, ignorance is not an excuse,” she replied, pointing a finger at him like a gavel. Then she leaned forward, clutching her stomach as laughter burst out of her. “So I, the judge of this court, sentence you to death!”
“Thanks for the lesson. But you said something wrong.”
“What?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“My name isn’t Mr. Protagonist. It’s Markl.”
She narrowed her eyes like a detective who just spotted a lie. “Are you the kid from that Ghibli movie? Don’t trick me. That can’t be your real name.”
“It is,” he said, deadpan. “If I wasn’t on this street right now, I’d be in my moving castle — or using the magic door that can go anywhere, so I wouldn’t have to waste money on plane tickets.”
Her eyes widened. “A door that can go anywhere?! Bro!!! That’s the dream. And if you were really that kid from the movie, I’d be taller than you. You wouldn’t be calling me short anymore.”
“I’d still be taller than you.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Now that I’ve convinced you my name’s real, what’s yours then?”
She winked again. “Sorry, Mark L. I don’t give my name to random strangers.”
“I bet you don’t take candy from strangers either,” he grumbled. “How come you ask for ice cream then? Kinda ironic.”
“Candy and ice cream are different categories,” she declared, nose in the air. “Don’t you know that?”
“No. They’re both sweets.”
“And they both give diabetes," she countered.
“That’s offensive,” he mimicked.
“No! And don’t use my logic against me. Twice already.”
“Someone knows how to count.”
“Shut up, Mark L.” She tried not to laugh.
“It’s Mark-kel,” he corrected dramatically. “You’re such a problem. Question.”
She folded her arms. “Go on.”
“Is this how you show that you… don’t follow rules?”
“You tell me.”
“I’m asking a yes or no question.”
“Maybe.”
Markl exhaled, defeated. “I think I already understand what you’re trying to say.”
“It’s a free world,” she said, stretching her arms toward the night sky. “We make our own rules.”
“I hope you obey the legal ones.”
“Don’t worry. I follow legal rules… unless I murder you later.” She deepened her voice, acting creepily.
“You’re terrifying,” he muttered, sarcastic but amused.
“Don’t dare me,” she continued in character.
He shifted the conversation, voice quieter. “Do you think we’re really free though?”
Her teasing stopped. She saw the shift in him.
“We come from a country where we have freedom,” she answered thoughtfully. “Though it’s run by stupid, corrupt leaders. My beloved Philippines.”
“I like that you’re patriotic. But I wasn’t talking about politics.”
She tilted her head. “Then what?”
“Our existence. As humans.”
She wasn’t expecting that. Still, she answered softly, “I think God gave us free will. That’s enough to say we are free.”
Markl leaned in unconsciously, drawn to the sincerity in her voice.
“Please continue.”
She burst into laughter. “Just kidding! You fell for it!”
He groaned, facepalming. She laughed even harder.
“You really look stupid,” she cackled.
“I’ll give you that point.”
“So it’s 1–1?”
“Yeah.”
Her laughter faded. A calm curiosity replaced her silliness.
“Do you believe in God?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said, no hesitation. “I love science. The Big Bang theory, Darwin’s evolution. Part of me believes in those. But another part needs faith. Faith gave people strength. It made rules. It made us… less cruel than we could be.”
“You called me ironic earlier,” she teased, “but look at you now. Walking contradiction.”
“I’d rather be a slave of faith than a slave of theories,” he said quietly, like a weight lifted from his soul.
She looked at him differently now. Eyes softer. Proud. As if she discovered something special.
“Are you a pious man?” she asked, squinting as if trying to see his soul.
“I wouldn’t label myself like that,” he replied. “But I believe God exists. What about you?”
“At the moment, I’m sort of a non-believer. Not exactly atheist.” Her voice dropped to a quieter register. “I’ve been through a lot recently. Enough to make me question if He’s even there. Like most people do, I guess.”
“Maybe that’s His way of making you realize He exists,” he said gently.
She let out a tiny laugh, half tired and half annoyed. “I knew you were going to say that.”
They walked side by side. No awkwardness. No hesitation. The neon lights danced around them. The crowd faded into background noise.
Two strangers in Bangkok. But not strangers anymore.
“That’s the place," she said, pointing. "Ice cream shop."
The shop looked ancient compared to the world outside. Vintage posters, dusty neon signs, and a phonograph quietly playing music from the 70s. Eight empty tables, silent as a forgotten dream. Behind the counter, an elderly couple served ice cream like memories frozen in time.
"Seems like we're the only ones here," Markl said.
"You're not wrong, Captain Obvious."
"So," he said, "what do you want? It's on me."
"I wouldn't be here if it weren't your treat."
"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." Markl said.
She stared into his eyes, eyes locked like she is on the edge of rage "I'll have whatever you order." Lady said.
"Sure then. Too bad they don't have pandan or macapuno flavor."
She chuckled. "Too Filipino of you, Mark L."
"And again. For the third time. It's Markkel."
"Hmm... someone knows how to count."
"Whatever. Let's have tiramisu and cheesecake."
Her jaw dropped. "Wait! Are you some kind of mind reader?"
"I'm a part-time mind reader," Markl teased. "Not a big deal."
"You love this flavor?"
"Nope." She deadpanned instantly.
"Again!?"
"That was easy." She cackled. "Come on, man! Step up!"
They settled at a corner table, ice cream in hand.
"So, what's your story?" she asked. "Why did you come here?"
Markl stirred his dessert, expression dimming slightly. "Like every Filipino here. Not enough opportunities back home. So I tried my luck here. Luckily... luck worked."
"That's the usual answer," she said softly. "Sadly we have to leave our home just to survive. As Filipino citizens, opportunities should be a privilege. But those dumb politicians took that from us."
"I couldn't agree more. But don't ask me about politics. I'm apolitical but politically aware."
She faked a gasp. "Congratulations. That's the most ironic sentence I've heard today. You can't be both. Either you care or you don't."
"I used to care," he confessed. "But the system killed my old self. I hated watching people fight over ideology. Worse... They fight for politicians. We become so dogmatic... loyal pets to people who don't even know we exist."
"Isn't that what makes us human?" she replied. "We've been fighting for thousands of years over ideology. That's why wars exist. Even today, nothing changes."
"Do you think war will ever end?"77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmcXNA1iNvV
"Not a chance." She leaned forward, voice low. "War is a gazillion-dollar business, Mark L."
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdX5pUhyoNV
"The most cruel word ever made… 'war.' It turns people against each other, religions against one another, countries against countries, Filipinos against Filipinos, everyone against everyone. It promotes hate… destroys lives." He spoke slowly, eyes fixed on the ground.
"That’s very deep, Mark L. I can really feel the pain you carry in your chest," she said softly.
"I’m just happy to get these thoughts off my head… thanks to you."
"You’re very welcome," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Anyway… do you believe in conspiracies?" Markl asked.
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPnqbD899dq
"Like what?" The lady replied.
"Are you one of those people who think COVID was a weapon of war? A way to control people and make money?" he asked, squinting playfully.
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjBEgVKvS5I
"Hmm… the way you said it, sounds like you believe it," she teased. "That conspiracy came straight from your brain, didn’t it?
"I was just asking."
"COVID is a natural phenomenon," she said. "Like the Spanish flu or Black Plague. Terrifying, yes. But not everything has a puppet master."
He smiled slightly. “You keep calling me Mark L, but I still don’t know your name.”
She leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s better if you don’t.”
He laughed, half nervous, half curious. “What are you… a serial killer?” he asked, playing scared.
Her grin widened, eyes glittering with mischief. “I told you — I’m going to murder you after tonight.” She said it like a promise and looked at him with a mock-menacing stare that was more theatrical than deadly.
Markl’s heartbeat skipped. He didn’t know whether to be alarmed or amused, but the flutter in his chest told him one thing: he wanted to see the next scene.
“If you can’t tell me your name,” Markl said, tilting his head, “can I at least know your story? Why are you here in Bangkok?”
Her expression softened, the murderous-act melting as quickly as it came. That familiar bright smile returned, though a hint of seriousness.
“I’m traveling alone,” she said, fingers fidgeting with one of her bracelets. She paused, as if deciding which truths were safe to reveal. “Please don’t ask me why I'm alone. That’s such a basic, boring question.”
Markl raised his hands in surrender.
“But hmm…” she continued, tapping her chin dramatically. “I’ve been here for three days. I’m enjoying the city! The night markets, the food, the culture. “
“Question,” Markl said.
“Go on,” she replied, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
“Why did you stop me?”
“Nothing special,” she shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re Filipino. And that’s it.”
“Because of the song I was listening to,” he realized, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Do you like music?”
“Yes, a lot,” he answered proudly, chest slightly puffed out.
“I like music too. I think it’s the greatest invention humankind has ever created,” she said, eyes shining.
“Yeah, that’s true. I can’t see the world without music,” he admitted softly.
“Do you know what synesthesia means?” she asked, curiosity glowing in her voice.
He paused for a moment, recalling the term.
“I think so,” he said slowly. “Synesthesia is when your senses get mixed together. Like, hearing music might make someone see colors, or tasting a flavor might make them see a shape. It’s involuntary—your brain just makes these connections automatically.”
Her eyes widened, sparkling. “That’s exactly how I feel! When I listen to music, it’s like the notes paint pictures in my mind.”
“When I sing,” she continued, voice softening, “I get completely lost in it. Every lyric makes me imagine a scene, and I feel every emotion like I’m living it. It’s like stepping into another world for a little while.”
“This is very interesting.”
“Yeah, I know… also kinda weird,” she said, awkwardness flickering in her eyes.
“You finally admitted you’re weird,” Markl smirked.
“That just makes me unique in every way,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and tilting her head with a sly grin.
“Same goes for your hair and outfits — screaming, ‘I’m unique in every way possible,’” he added, chuckling.
She rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms but hiding a small smile.
“You seem like a very educated man,” she said, tilting her head slightly.
“So are you. Thank God I made it… even if our educational system sucks,” he replied, a teasing edge to his voice.
“Imagine if everyone was well-educated,” she said, gaze sharpening with intensity. “People would grow wise. The government would hate that. Their little puppies would start biting back.”
Markl chuckled. “I can already imagine the puppies chasing politicians through the streets.”
She snorted, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Exactly!”
“How do you think we can improve education?” he asked, leaning in slightly, genuinely curious.
“Increase teachers’ salaries,” she answered immediately, with conviction in every word. “Not just salary, but respect. From preschool teachers to professors. A pride comparable to doctors and lawyers.” She sighed, a flicker of frustration shadowing her features. “Teachers are underpaid. Undervalued. And we bully them in school… make their lives harder.”
Markl raised a brow. “Speaking from personal experience?”
She smirked, eyes glinting. “My mom is an elementary school teacher. I’ve seen everything.”
Markl leaned back, realization washing over him. Beneath her wild humor and rapid-fire mood swings… she was deep. Passionate. Brilliantly unpredictable.
And somehow… She made him feel alive.
Markl noticed a karaoke bar tucked beside the ice cream shop.
“Do you have a good voice?”
“They say I do,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“That’s why you chose this place? Because they have karaoke, right?” he asked, leaning forward, teasing.
“Maybe,” she said, trying to hide the truth behind a shrug and a faint smile.
“Would you sing a song for me?” he begged, flashing a flirtatious grin that made her tilt her head.
“I would sing a song… but not for you!” she shot back, walking toward the karaoke bar with playful determination.
Markl sat at the table, practically bouncing in his seat, eyes fixed on her as she picked up the microphone.
She selected a song and pressed play: “You Don’t Own Me” by Lesley Gore.
“You don’t own me, I’m not one of your many toys,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSFQi8fVjz7
You don’t own me, don’t say I can’t go out with other boys…”
Her voice carried the clarity and confidence of the original, but softened with the unique warmth of her own gentle, spoken tone.
Markl’s jaw dropped slightly. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—mesmerized, caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief.
As she approached the chorus, the emotion in her voice grew palpable, each word brimming with defiance and longing:
“And don’t tell me what to do,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTEaMCjgeQd
And don’t tell me what to say,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfoU85OfXaz
And please, when I go out with you,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRCHHDd4utg
Don’t put me on display,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ54UEvStIyz
Cause you don’t own me…”
The chorus struck her like a revelation. In that moment, the ice cream shop transformed in her mind—no longer a quiet little café, but a stage in a smoky bar. And Markl… he wasn’t just a young man in casual clothes anymore. In her imagination, he became someone else entirely: a mid-thirties man in a crisp suit, watching her with detached curiosity, unimpressed by her performance.
She sang deeper, closing her eyes, letting the music pull her into another layer of herself. Was this just a vivid imagination? Or was she revisiting a story from her past—a secret, a pain she had never revealed to anyone, certainly not to this stranger who now sat before her?
The line between reality and memory blurred as she poured everything into the song, letting it carry her somewhere far beyond the ice cream shop, beyond Bangkok, beyond Markl’s curious gaze.
She stopped singing. The music faded, and in her imagination, she turned to the man in the suit — the one from her past.
“Why are you here?” she asked, voice sharp as a blade.
“I came to see you,” he replied smoothly. Too smoothly.
“I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. So get lost.” Her anger trembled beneath her skin.
He smirked, leaning in as if he owned the air she breathed.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeQEqros2Gy
“You were unforgettable. After what we did last time? Best night of my life.” His tone was calm, but his eyes… dangerous.
He slid his hand down her arm, reaching toward her thigh. She slapped it away instantly, glaring at him without a hint of fear.
“Everyone says that,” she spat.
“You’re such a problem…” he hissed, grin twisting. “And I love it.”
“Leave. Now.”
“No wonder you can’t find love.”
She didn’t flinch.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7pHnWzino5
“I don’t find love. Love finds me. But I don’t feel it. And I don’t need it.”
She spun away from him and stormed into her dressing room backstage.
She sank into a chair, shoulders heavy — exhausted not from the performance, but from the bullshit her past kept dragging into her present.
A girl slid into the seat beside her.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcJlUQU2N7I
“Hey sissy! Wow, what a scene you just made,” Lalaine teased.
“Oh, it’s you, Lalaine.” She forced a grin. “What can I say? Guys get obsessed. Not my fault I’m irresistible.”
“What he did wasn’t just creepy — it crossed the line,” Lalaine said, eyes narrowing. “We’re singers, not prostitutes. They should respect us.”
“These idiots think they own us just because we’re in this shitty bar—”
“Shh! The boss might hear you and kick you out!”
“You said it too. You’re going down with me,” she taunted back.
“I was just quoting you, you little prick,” Lalaine laughed.
The lady turned serious. “Do you ever have problems with boys, Lalaine?”
Lalaine scoffed. “Nope. I’m not as pretty as you — guys don’t swarm around me.”
“Don’t be so humble. You’re not that pretty,” she teased, smirking.
“You’re still mean as hell,” Lalaine said, rolling her eyes. Then her expression softened. “But… can I be honest? Please don’t get mad.”
“Go on,” she replied.
“I’m not like you.”
“Not like me?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“A slut?” she asked, not offended — just tired.
“No! Not like that,” Lalaine said quickly.
The lady inhaled, voice weakening.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3uzmA5nf6g
“Maybe I am like that. Maybe I’m a slut. A bitch who goes with any guy I like. But the truth, Lalaine?”
Her voice cracked, all her armor falling.
“No matter how many guys I date… I feel nothing. I don’t feel loved. I don’t feel in love. Nothing.”
Tears gathered but refused to fall.
“I sleep with them and yeah… I like it. But after? I feel disgusted. Dirty. Like I’m the worst person alive.”
She looked down at her hands as if they were stained with every memory.
Lalaine wrapped her arms around her, holding her tight.
“I don’t understand why I feel so empty,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I just want to feel something… anything. To be loved. To fall in love. To be happy. To be heartbroken. I don’t want everything — just something. I just want to feel alive… not this numbness that follows me every day.”
Her lips quivered, eyes glossy but stubbornly refusing to spill tears.
“I thought being with someone would fix the emptiness… but it didn’t. It never does. I keep taking from people — their affection, their attention — but nothing stays. I feel like a hollow shell pretending to feel what they feel.”
A silent sob escaped her — the kind that hurts more than a scream.
“It’s okay… It’s okay… It’s okay…” Lalaine’s voice repeated, soft and steady, like a heartbeat she didn’t have.
The only thing she could hear… the only thing holding her together.
Her eyes closed.77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnSHwDhW668
She started singing through the shaking in her chest:
“And don’t tell me what to do,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBgHlYuZm2Y
And don’t tell me what to say,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYFlAHqCRDV
And please, when I go out with you,77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLD6ph3r6ac
Don’t put me on display…77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmKxKYRaypa
‘Cause you don’t own me…”
“It’s okay… It’s okay… Everything’s gonna be alright…”
The comforting tone began to shift —77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsQgx0FkgNL
from a woman’s gentle hush…77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK2tfJJhAW0
to a deeper, reassuring voice.
“It’s okay… It’s okay… Everything’s gonna be alright…”
She opened her eyes — tears ready to fall.
Lalaine was gone.
And Markl was right there in front of her, wiping the tears she didn’t want to admit were real.
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiTgWlV68u8
and then Add to home screen.