Awkward...

It's been 3 months since then and I only saw him twice after that. He always kept to himself, picking up a table by the quantum section. And not once did he borrow a book, so, I haven't had any success in finding out his name. But this one time he came in with a student who referred to him as Professor Jenkins. What a fancy name. It suits the man nonetheless.

Especially when he's in a proper suit. Damn.

Some blessed guy once said - A suit is to women the way lingerie is to men. The difference is, women don't go to art exhibitions wearing lingerie.

I try to keep a straight face as I see him walk around the hall and stop at a modern art inspired by the painting 'Girl with a Pearl Earring'.

The artist had made a stained glass artwork, with much brighter hues than the original one which used browns and blues. I was about to head that way initially before I made the impromptu decision not to.

Why's the guy here? He seems the type to be always busy with another new research project, and this wasn't some state-of-the-art exhibition. It was the undergrad students' way to let off some steam, and it wasn't even being organized by his college. 

Oh well, whatever. Have I mentioned how awkward I get when forced to have small talk with literal strangers? Not something you'd expect from someone working a job with interpersonal skills being its main skill set. I'd rather not. I take a left and go towards the charcoal section instead, and soon, the gorgeous man is forgotten.

Even though the artists weren't 'professionals', there are still some amazing artworks here, the type that would actually sell for a pretty penny. There is one realism artwork of a basket of oranges, and the artist has captured everything, from the pores of each fruit, the threads in the bamboo basket, to the texture of the leaves just perfectly. It felt like I could smell them in the air. The sheer amount of time and effort put into it must be astounding. Another one that caught my eye is a watercolor painting of cherry blossoms in full bloom and a family having a picnic under them. I am in the middle of the handicraft section when I freeze, feeling my stomach start to cramp up.

Oh. Shit.

Hurrying to the washroom, I pray to whichever god is listening for it to not be what I think it is. But alas there doesn't seem to be a god on duty today because ten minutes later I find out I have gotten my period. A week early. In the middle of an art gallery. Shit. Fuck. I am royally unprepared. I usually always keep a pad or something in my purse but the last person to be seen carrying it was my sister. And now it is empty of the one thing I need. Do not panic. Stay calm and think.

I had on creamy beige pants and an off-white shirt. Which would not do much to hide the stain. Grimancing, I stuff some toilet paper down my pants. Please let it hold. I had already ordered a cab but it would take a while to arrive. The washroom doesn't have a lot of space and, after an angry lady bangs on my door complaining loudly about how much time I am taking, I try to make myself presentable and get the hell out of there.

Back out in the gallery, I go into a corner and stand stiffly, counting down minutes in my mind. I keep checking my Uber over and over, and when I am not doing that I distract myself by texting a flurry of profanities to my sister. I'm halfway through another long-worded R18 paragraph when I hear him call me.

"Excuse me? Miss Cathy? Are you alright?"

And this, folks, was not how I imagined my first meeting with my sexy-ass crush would go.

I close my eyes for a second and say a kind fuck you to my luck before I look up into his amber eyes, giving an exaggerated, tight smile, "No."

My answer catches him off guard for a second, and then he frowns slightly in worry, "Are you feeling unwell? Do I need to call someone?"

"No, don't call anyone," The smile I give him this time is a bit amused, "Thank you, but I'd rather not have to go around explaining my situation." And another cramp hits. I lean back onto the wall, curling slightly, my nose crumpling up as I wrap a hand around my stomach. Smile twisting into something weird.

The look he gives me is the disapproving kind, the one that your professor would give you for a half-assed answer. In a more normal setting, I would've laughed. "Then tell me how I can help." He shuffles around to stand in a way that covers me a bit from the crowd, also making it so that it no longer appears like we are having an aggressive staring contest.

"No, no, it's alright." It is not. "It is not that bad." It's that bad and much worse.

He doesn't seem to buy it. "Are you sure? Should I get you something to drink? Water, perhaps?"

"It's fine. In fact, I already called an Uber, and it's-" I check the app again, freeze, then look up with a blank face and another tight smile, "canceled. Got canceled. Because of the traffic." 

This time he gives me a blank look, with an eyebrow cocked up, and folds up his arms. Damn, he's hot.

Can people die of humiliation?? "I got my period." I clench my jaw, "and," Why do I feel the need to give this guy an explanation? "I.. don't have with me." Perhaps because I feel like he should at least know what the hell is going on. "The supplies." I end the sentence awkwardly, looking down at my nails digging into my black purse before I look up to catch him nodding thoughtfully.

"I could drop you home? If you'd like. I came here in my car. Unless you'd prefer waiting another fifteen to twenty minutes for the next Uber?" This time he's giving me a smile. Just a small one where one side of his lips tick up.

I just nod and straighten up. He starts walking and I follow him to the parking lot in silence, too busy trying not to dig a hole in the ground and stuff my head in, never to come out.

We approach a beautiful white Audi A5 Sportback. And as he unlocks it and opens the passenger door, looking at the warm-colored interior I freeze for a completely different reason.

He looks at me questioningly, "Is something wrong?"

"I can't sit in there!" I aggressively whisper, giving him a wide-eyed look.

"Why the hell not." He looks completely baffled by my sudden change of demeanor.

"Because!!" Gods, am I squeaking? "I..I!!.. I can't!" I splutter, trying to come up with a way to word it which wouldn't make the situation infinitely more uncomfortable than it already is. I wouldn't trust my heavy-ass flow with white car seats.

This time he tilts his head and closes his eyes, letting out a sigh as he rubs one hand down his face, "Look here, Miss Cathy. If you do not tell me what issue you have, I won't know how to offer a solution!" He gives me a half-amused, half-suffering look.

That rubs me wrong and I scowl, my embarrassment forgotten, "Hey!" 

He's right tho. It's not like I have any better options. I don't have the type of close friends that I would count on to drop their work and come pick me up. My younger sister must be in the middle of her classes so that option is out. I don't know how long it would take for another cab to come and I have no interest in going around with a splotch on my pants. So I just cross my arms and force it out, "I just.... It's white!!" I have never been more grateful that my wheat-colored skin hides my blush. 

"Ah." Both his eyebrows go up as he finally understands what I was trying to say. And then that stupid one-sided smirk is back again. "So that's the issue." 

I thought he'd be grossed out. I am not someone who gets creeped out by period talk but hell, I would be grossed out. Instead, he takes off his dark blue suit jacket and simply hands it over. 

I stare at the jacket, then I stare at him.

"Go on, sit. You shouldn't stay standing for so long. Wouldn't that make your stomach hurt?"

It's this nonchalance of his that snaps me out of my mortified, uncertain hovering. I take the jacket, stuff my shame to the back of my mind, and spread it out before getting in. 

And that's how I end up in the most self-conscious car ride of my life.