Blog #654

Have you guys read by Akira Fujiwara? I’ve been devouring a lot of josei manga lately, and Love Blog is one of my recent discoveries – and favorites. In the manga, the MC doesn’t end up with her first love – or even the first one who took her V-card. I don’t think we get to meet her first love until we’re several chapters in, and the first guy she bangs isn’t even the guy she was in love with at that time.

Shocker, I know. I’m strictly into the virginal-MC type (fictional preference, is all) of romance so I was all whoa when I read it, and the more I read, the more I kept thinking…this is how my life should be. The MC makes mistakes, forgives herself for it, and moves on.

However…it’s easier said than done. I made a mistake, haven’t forgiven myself for it, and I’ve been hung up on it…for three years now.

But I think it’s time to change that.

I think…it’s time to say goodbye to the shoujo phase of my life and say hello to the new josei chapter.

In normal speak: I’m going to move on.

I used to think it was okay to keep hurting. I thought that was how it should to be, that you had to wait for your feelings to die instead of killing it. But now I’m thinking that’s not right. Or at least only shoujo girls can get away with being so idealistic. But in the “real” world of josei – moving on is just that: moving on.

Even if you still hurt, even if you still can’t forget, even if you still love, foolishly---

You just move on.

* * *

The Palace of the Emir Sheikh of Ramil

Two months ago

The man in front of me is tall, dark, and handsome; he’s also powerful and wealthy, an alpha to the core. Textbook josei hero material really, and if I were back to my usual fantasizing self, I’d be furiously scribbling plot points in my mind now.

Desert sheikh. Impoverished scholar. Sparks fly.

But things have changed, and all I can do is swallow nervously before stammering a greeting. “Good morning, Your, umm---” My mind goes blank. Oh, shite. How does one address a sheikh anyway? And what if said sheikh is cousin to the Emir Sheikh? Would that make a difference?

When I look at the sheikh, mortified at my gaffe, the sheikh deadpans, “Your Umm would do.” He pauses. “Assuming, of course, Umm means I’ve rendered you speechless by my good looks.”

My mouth opens and closes. Did the sheikh just flirt with me? I’m still trying to rewind the past ten seconds in my mind when the sheikh says politely, “That was a joke, by the way.”

Oh. Right. I should have known he was just kidding.

The sheikh gestures to the seating area of his office, saying, “Please have a seat. I’ll be joining you shortly.” He turns his back on me soon after, and I’m thankful for this since it saves me from replying. Until I figure out how sheikhs should be addressed, I’d rather not say a word.

The white sofa matches the rest of his pristine-white and perfectly symmetrical office, making me think the sheikh is someone who doesn’t just like staying in control but gets a kick out of it, too. I’m still trying to make up my mind about whether that’s good or bad when the sheikh joins me, a thick brown folder in his hands---

Wait a minute.

Is that my name on the folder?

“Thank you for coming to meet me despite the short notice, Ms. Chariot.”

“It’s, umm---”

His eyes gleam.

Oh, blast it. How does one address a sheikh?

“Malik will do,” the sheikh says, as if hearing my question.

“Err…” I may be an official guest of the palace, but it’s only because I’m friend of a friend of a friend of the Emir Sheikh. Other than that, I’m nobody. And he – Malik Al-Atassi – is somebody. Doesn’t he know that nobodies and somebodies can’t be on first name basis with each other?

Some of my horror must have been written on my face because the sheikh suddenly lifts one dark brow, asking, “My name appalls you that much?”

I turn red. “No, sir.” Wait, no, he’s a sheikh, not a bloody knight. “I mean, Your Holiness.” His lips twitch, and I turn even redder, realizing I’ve just addressed him like he’s the bloody pope.

I Am Such An Idiot.

“I’m sorry,” I say miserably. “I have no idea how to address a sheikh.”

“That’s become plain to see.” The sheikh’s tone is lazily amused, which I supposed I should be thankful for. It’s better than him finding me disrespectful and yelling ‘off with her head.’ I’m not sure if stuff like that still happens in the kingdom of Ramil, but you can’t be too safe, you know?

“Very well then.” The sheikh’s tone becomes brisk, like an army sergeant addressing his recruit, and I straighten involuntarily on the couch.

“As it appears a challenge for you to call me by my given name, you may simply address me as ‘sheikh.’ Would that do?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, yes, sheikh.”

And then I sit on my hands.

Seeing it, the sheikh once again lifts an inquiring brow, but I can only smile weakly in answer. No way am I going to admit the way he’s acting all commander-y is making me itch to give him a respectful salute.

Finally, the sheikh shakes his head, as if he’s decided to simply label me a weirdo. “The reason I’ve called you to my office is that your friend, Ms. Lace Wyndham, has submitted a scholarship application to one of our foundations on your behalf.”

“Excuse me?” I’m completely stunned. And then I remember my name on the folder and everything suddenly becomes clear. Oh, Lace. I know my friend means well, but she didn’t have to do this.

“You evidently do not approve of her actions.”

“It’s not that,” I stammer. “I just…I don’t want to cause her any more trouble than I’ve already done.”

“I do not believe Ms. Wyndham sees it that way – and our kingdom’s educational department doesn’t see it that way either.”

Oh. Okay. Wait. What?

“We’ve reviewed your portfolio, and after careful deliberation, my staff has deemed you worthy of receiving a full scholarship.”

They…did?

“You appear shocked.”

“That’s because I am,” I say weakly.

“You should have more faith in your own work, Ms. Chariot.”

I nod slowly, knowing that he’s right – but also knowing it’s not as easy as he makes it seem. “I really appreciate the opportunity your department is offering me, but I don’t want to accept it with any false promises on my part. I still love to draw, but I’m not sure…I’m not sure if I can draw the way I used to.”

Silence.

And then the sheikh says, “Your concerns are duly noted. That said, we are still pushing through with the scholarship---”

I’m incredulous. “Even after what I told you?”

“That is what I just said, is it not?”

His tone is just the slightest bit impatient, and I wince. Ouch. It’s never nice for someone to make you feel like an idiot, especially when you know it’s deserved.

“My department will be in contact with you soon regarding the arrangements. We’ve already selected a school for you, and your scholarship will be all-inclusive. Funds will be provided to cover board and lodging, course materials, and naturally you’ll also be provided with a monthly living allowance.” The sheikh hands me the folder in his hand. “Everything is in there.”

My hands shake as I take the folder. “T-thank you.”

“Does this mean you’re accepting our offer then?”

“I’d be a fool if I didn’t,” I say uneasily. “Wouldn’t I?”

The sheikh’s broad shoulders move in a casual shrug. “I’ve always believed being a fool is a matter of choice. So…”

“I’m accepting the offer.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” I say, more firmly this time, just so he’d be convinced that I’m not a fool.

“Even if the school you’ll be transferring to is in Tokyo?”

“Even if the school---” Wait. What? I clear my throat, asking faintly, “Did you just say Tokyo, sheikh?”

“Yes.” The sheikh’s tone is silky. “I did.”

And when his eyes gleam again, I just know – in fact I’m 100% sure – that this man knows just enough to understand what Tokyo means to me.

Lace Wyndham, you have such a bloody big mouth.

“Well then, Ms. Chariot? I’m interested to hear what you have to say. Will you be a fool or not?”

Less than thirty minutes later, I finish signing the last page of my contract, thus cementing my agreement to becoming the kingdom of Ramil’s newest scholar.

“You are meeting with Lace and Silver after this?” the sheikh asks as we both rise to our feet.

“Yes, sheikh.”

“I believe they’re still at the courtyard. Let me take you to them.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, sheikh,” I say quickly. “I can manage---”

The sheikh bares his teeth in a smile that’s as devastating as it’s terrifying. “I insist.” In other words, do what he says or off with my head.

“Yes, sheikh.”

A couple of maids walking the opposite direction see us as we step out into the hallway, and they quickly bow to the sheikh while their glances dart towards me with great interest. Oh no. According to Lace, palace rumors had once caused great trouble for the Emir Sheikh and his American wife, and I definitely don’t want to cause the sheikh the same kind of trouble.

I wait until the maids are completely gone before asking uneasily, “Is that okay, sheikh? I think they’ve gotten the wrong idea about us.”

“Have they?”

“Umm.” Can somebody please invent a rewind button for the brain? It would be so handy, especially when the people you’re talking to love to do the most unexpected things---

Like a sheikh flirting with a nobody.

The sheikh suddenly smirks.

And I realize that I’ve actually spoken the words out loud.

“Yes, I do believe I am flirting,” the sheikh says silkily.

“B-but…”

“But I beg to disagree on the ‘nobody’ part.”

I try my best to make sense of what’s happening, but it’s impossible.

“I don’t understand,” I say lamely.

“What’s there to misunderstand?”

“Because you’re…you’re supposed to be into horses.”

“And so I am,” the sheikh answers mildly, “but not that way.”

It takes me one second too many before I realize what he thought I was implying, and my cheeks burst into fire. “No, sir, I mean, sheikh. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that Silver told me you were as mad about horses as Lace is about basketball, and so I thought you’d be too busy to be interested in women like Lace was at the start and so I didn’t really mean to offend---”

When the sheikh’s lips start to curve, I stop speaking.

Did. I. Just. Babble?

The sheikh smirks.

Yes. I. Did.

“I am so sorry, sheikh.”

“There is nothing to say sorry for. You’re quite entertaining when you lower your guard, and now that you’ve mentioned it, I do notice the similarities.”

“S-similarities?”

“Yes, similarities. You have some of the most important qualities I look for in a mare.”

“O-oh.” A mare? I have the same qualities as a mare?

He suddenly steps closer towards me, and I can’t help rearing back. He continues moving forward…and…forward…and…

Thud.

My back hits something solid, and I yelp. His hands slam against the wall, and I yelp again. How in the world did I end up in this position?

The sheikh moves even closer, and I freeze.

“I like my mares skittish.”

But I’m not a mare, I want to protest.

“They’re a joy to train---”

But I’m still not a mare.

“And after that, they become the sweetest and most biddable thing.”

Like you can be, his words silently imply.

And I no longer know what to think.

Bloody hell.

I know I asked for God’s help to move on, but…this is bad. Or good. No, it’s bad. Oh, I don’t know what to think anymore.