“Please take me to the Japanese garden.”

If you accompany a beautiful girl, will you not lead her to a place where there are many people? That was what I had in mind. Of course, it was not meant to be.

“Why not the mall? We can do so many things inside.”

“I want to take a promenade, not join the human traffic.”

My alternative suggestions fell on deaf ears. I could be the one spending but she dictated where we would go.

It seemed the site was tucked away in the most remote part of the park, where few visitors came except if they intended it as their destination. I visited it once when I was a kid when our family celebrated our annual Christmas walk.

“It’s eerily quiet in here,” I said, following her slowly like I was a loyal dog.

She was probably looking for her particular spot to sit where we could have our intimate talk. There was something in her mind that I could not pry out from her. I guessed she needed the ambiance to put some sense in me.

Once we reached the flowery section of the garden, she pointed to where we would rest.

“I am pregnant,” she announced before I could place my butt on the bench.

Abruptly, I stood up as if someone banged my ears with gongs.

“That’s impossible,” I tried not to raise my voice. “We have not …” I could not say the words as if uttering them was a profanity. I paced back and forth like a rooster who could not urinate.

“With ideas,” she continued in monotone as if she did not see my reaction, “about us.”

“Can’t you not use that word? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“You need that because I think you are not serious enough with our relationship.”

“Why not just slap me once in a while. That could also do the trick.”



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