The Idol and The Manager

Blue Hanky

Carmela's POV

"Help."

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the desperation in it cut through the tension surrounding them. She was barely aware of her surroundings, her entire focus on the overwhelming feeling of being out of control, embarrassed, and confused.

"Help me, please," Carmela repeated, her voice trembling.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt as though the world around her was closing in.

What do I do now? I need to get out of here. I need to escape this mess, but I can’t even think straight right now. The tears were still there, but she forced herself to keep going, trying to regain some sense of control.

"Oh! Min Ji-ya!" The man who had approached them suddenly exclaimed, his voice filled with warmth and familiarity. It was a stark contrast to the coldness that had just been thrown her way.

Min Ji-ya? Who is that? Why is he calling me that?

"What are you doing here, my daughter? Didn't I say I'll treat you and your omma next time?" The man continued, smiling at Carmela.

Carmela's brain struggled to make sense of what was happening. Min Ji-ya? Me? What is he talking about? Her confusion deepened when she saw the man looking at her with what seemed to be genuine affection.

She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to burst out in confusion. Why is this man calling me "daughter"? What is going on?

But then, as if a switch flipped in her mind, Carmela realized that her only goal was to get out of the cafe. She needed an escape. She needed to stop the stares, the whispers, the cameras clicking. The tears were still there, but she forced herself to pull it together. I just need to play along. I need to get out of here.

With a shaky breath, she slowly lowered her gaze and then whispered, "Appa."

What am I even saying? Her mind screamed, but she pushed the thought away. I have to do this. I need to survive this moment. Her stomach churned. Sht, what was I supposed to say next? I haven't even thought this through...*

She faltered again, her lips trembling as she tried to string words together. This is a mess. I can’t think of anything that makes sense..

.

"Appa!" Carmela cried out, and it wasn't just out of desperation. She actually felt the words in her chest. The tears that had started to subside were now flowing freely again.

She raised her head, slowly, not daring to meet anyone's gaze for too long. Her eyes flicked to the man in front of her—the one who had been stained with coffee—and then to the "father" who stood beside her.

I can’t look at him like this. Not now. I need to keep it together.

"Omma yelled at me," Carmela blurted out, clutching at the hastily formed lie. "She said... she said..." She faltered again.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I can’t even finish the sentence...

She didn’t know where to go from here. Everything was slipping from her grasp.

And so, instead of continuing, she cried harder, allowing the tears to wash over her face. She didn’t know how to stop herself.

"Appa!" she cried again, her voice cracking.

Why is this happening? Why am I so helpless right now?

"Gwaenchana, my baby." The man responded in a soothing tone, tapping her head gently as if it was all so natural.

Carmela didn't know how to feel about the affection being lavished upon her. It’s all too much, but I will play along. I just want to get out of here.

"Let's go. I'll buy you ice cream, okay?" The man, whom she was now pretending was her father, spoke kindly, but his words felt like an anchor in her turmoil.

Ice cream? Go, as long as I can to get out of here.

Carmela nodded weakly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Okay. Focus, Carmela. Just nod, just go with him. It’s the only way to escape the spotlight.

Before they left, Carmela heard the man, her supposed "Appa," speak to the manager—apologizing for the scene. Carmela barely caught the words, her mind still too muddled with shock and sadness. The weight of the whole situation was too much for her to process all at once.

What did he even say to the manager? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is I’m leaving. I need to breathe. I need to get away from all of this.

As they walked out of the café, Carmela felt the arms of the man beside her steady her, guiding her without saying much. The walk felt like it lasted forever, but it was better than standing there, exposed and vulnerable.

Where are we even going? I don’t care. Just follow. Just keep walking.

Ten minutes later, they entered a quiet building, moving through a parking lot, and Carmela continued to follow her "Appa" without a word.

Where are we going? I don't know, but I don't have a choice. He’s leading me, and I just need to follow.

The whole time, she struggled to regain some control over herself. It’s been so long since I’ve cried this much. How do I stop? How do I make this stop?

She wiped her face, trying to calm the storm inside her. But when she stopped walking, and the man did too, she felt a wave of exhaustion crash over her.

I can’t do this anymore. I need a moment to breathe. Just give me one second to pull myself together.

"Thank you very much for helping me, sir," Carmela said, bowing deeply in gratitude. Her voice was still shaky, but there was sincerity in her words.

I owe him an apology. I have no idea who he is, but I’m still thankful.

The man stopped and turned to face her, his posture rigid. What is this man thinking? Why is he still here?

"I'll be okay here. You can leave me," Carmela said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The man’s gaze flicked to her appa, then back at her. She felt exposed again, as though the whole scene was about to unfold in front of her.

What do I do now? Should I walk away? Should I let him leave?

Her eyes wandered around, and it was only then that she realized they were standing in a parking lot. This is real. It’s happening. But where are we?

She could feel the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. The man with the coffee stain was still there, standing a few feet away.

Taking a step toward him, Carmela cleared her throat, trying to gather whatever dignity she had left. She bowed slightly.

"I am very sorry for what happened. I will make it up to you. I will buy you new clothes, sir." She spoke from the heart, even as her emotions still tugged at her.

I don’t know if this will make any difference, but I have to try. I can’t just let it go without doing something.

But then, she was handed a blue handkerchief. The motion was unexpected, and Carmela looked up, confused.

The man, still wearing a black cap and mask that hid his features, nodded toward her.

"Take it," he said simply.

Why is he giving me this? Carmela wondered, but the moment felt too tender to question.

"Thank you," Carmela replied, taking the cloth from his hand. Her fingers trembled as she wiped the remnants of her tears away. I just need to stop crying. I need to look like I have it together.

"I'm very sorry. I'm just so emotional right now," she said, trying to explain the torrent of emotions inside her. "I didn't know that there are people in Korea who act like that. I don't know what I did. I didn't mean to get your clothes dirty. I apologize sincerely."

Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I stop crying or explaining myself?

Her voice trailed off, and soon the sobs returned, the overwhelming emotion flooding her once more.

But just as she thought she might break down again, she felt a hand gently touch her head. The warmth of his palm reached through the fabric of her hat, offering a soothing comfort she didn’t realize she needed.

Why does this touch feel so... calming? Why does he make me feel safe, even though I don’t know him?

"It's okay. It's okay," the man said softly, his words carrying a sense of calm that settled her trembling body.

I can’t explain it, but right now, his words make everything feel... okay.

For a moment, Carmela stood still, the tears finally subsiding. It wasn’t much, but in that brief touch, she felt a glimmer of peace amidst the chaos. Maybe everything will be okay after all.