Ren took me out for our first official date. Even though, we've been spending most of our days together—I told him we hadn't done the actual dating part. We sat in this quaint breakfast café, where they sold mostly French delicacies. It had that romantic feel, with the smell of freshly baked baguettes or croissants. I took a sip of my latte, while Ren sat in front of me–texting on his phone. 

A waitress, dressed in a darling French maid outfit came to our table. She smiled as she places the plates in front of me, and a cappuccino cup in front of Ren. "Enjoy," she says before walking off with her brass tray holder.

"Thank you," I said. I licked my lips in excitement as I looked at the pastel macarons, yogurt glass pots with jam on the bottom, and candied fruits. I took a small croissant that had a light flaky top and chocolate syrup squiggled on top for design.  I gently tore at the center and revealed melted chocolate in the core. Before the chocolate spilled onto the plate, my mouth bit into the flaky, crispy warm pastry–my tastebuds enjoying the chocolatey experience. I closed my eyes to savor the flavors and went in for another bite. A smidge of chocolate wound up on the corner of my mouth. 

I expressed in delight, "This is so good." I look up at Ren watching me with a bemused look on his face. I licked my lips for any traces of crumbs or chocolate, "What?" 

He chuckled, "I'm glad you're enjoying the food." 

I looked at the plates and back at him, realizing he hadn't eaten anything, "Well, let's enjoy it together...why aren't you eating anything?" 

He took a sip of his cappuccino and said, "I don't usually eat breakfast." 

I narrowed my eyes, "You asked me out for breakfast...now you're saying you don't even eat breakfast."

Ren only drank his coffee in response.

"I ordered two of each." I pointed to the chocolate croissant, "This one, what is it? Uh...Pan–" 

"Pain Au Chocolat," Ren says in a French accent. I blinked, impressed at his pronunciation, "You can speak French?"

"Only a little," he says as he takes a bite of the yogurt. 

"Mm, how many languages can you speak?" I asked. Ren puts the little spoon for the yogurt down, on the tea plate. He says, "Three. Thai, English, and French. French, I learned since I constantly traveled there. I consider it my second home...once." A somberness casts over Ren's face before he shakes his head–dismissing whatever thought crossed his mind. 

"How about you?"

"You beat me to one. I only know Thai and English," I said. I took a sliced baguette with a sandwich knife and spread blackberry jam on it. I took a bite and loved the bit of saltiness mixed with the sweet jam. "Mmm," I sounded out as I ate all of it in one go. I felt the jam stain the corner of my lip again. I went for a napkin but before I could wipe it off, Ren brushes it off with his thumb. I froze as he looked at his finger and licked the jam off. He took a napkin, leaning slightly towards me, and wiped the rest off my mouth, "You're messy when you eat." 

I gulped as I watched him as he placed the used napkin and went back to eating his yogurt. Ren seemed unfazed as he said, "If you wanted French food, we could've flown to Paris last night and come back." 

My eyes widened in disbelief, "Why didn't you offer earlier?!" Ren shrugged and took a sip from his coffee again, "You suggested this café, I didn't want to turn you down." 

I was taken by surprise by his nonchalant attitude and wondered about the mass amount of wealth his family had. By default, he had. "It's fine. I don't think we should fly abroad for some breakfast," I clinked my ring against the porcelain cup. Ren nods, "All right."

...

After the café, we walked side by side. My right arm hooked around his left arm, and he held my bag with his other. I was against it, but he insisted on carrying my bag for me, so I was defeated. I peeked at the storefronts and displays of various luxury, boutique items. We came to the shopping center in the middle of the week so, there weren't that many people.

Ren says, "Since we're here, we should get something for Thyme." 

"Sure. Do you know what he likes?"

Ren said, "I'll buy him new straps for his watch. I think that should be good enough for him."

"Is that what he wants? Leather straps?" 

We reached the storefront of Cartier and I looked through the window to see only a few people inside. 

He opened the door for me, "It's kind of hard to buy a guy who has everything a gift." I tilted my head as I walked inside. 

A security guard nodded as I walked in and I smiled. An attendant immediately walked towards us, "Welcome. Are you in need of any assistance?" I looked back at Ren and he stepped forward, "Yes, I would like to take a look at your leather straps for Tank Louis." 

"Please follow me." She says and Ren gives my bag back to me as I let him go. I walked around the store and viewed the various displays of jewelry. I bent over for a closer look and read the tags, 10,320, 13,000, 7,250. I grimaced as I stood straight, I definitely don't have enough for an engravement. An attendant walk towards my way behind the counter and asked me, "Would you like me to take something out Madam?"

I shook my head, "No thank you." But a pair of earrings caught my eye. The attendant quickly takes it out before I can protest. "This is our Etincelle de Cartier earrings. It's 18K white gold and decorated with 12 brilliant-cut diamonds." She holds it for me to take and I shyly take the leather stand. I admired the shine and daintiness it holds. I read the tag and such a little thing cost 10,700. I gulped and gave the earrings back to the attendant. 

"Is it not to your liking?", she asks. 

"I decided not to get it, thank you for showing me–" 

"Get what?", Ren's voice says behind me. I turned and saw Ren standing behind me holding a red bag. "Oh, it's nothing. We should go."

I look back to the attendant and said, "Thank you." 

She only smiled but Ren walked beside me and told her, "Please put it in a bag for me. I'll buy it." 

"Ren." 

The attendant looks between us, and Ren pulls out a black card. I shook my head at her but she hesitantly looks at Ren. He only nods sternly, and she decides to heed his command. She says, "I'll be back." 

As soon as she walks away, I whispered, "Ren. You don't have to do that." 

Ren meets my eyes, "I wanted to." I slumped guiltily, "Thank you but, I have many earrings already. Plus, it's so expensive." 

He clicked his tongue, and he hugs me close to him with one arm over my shoulder, "Don't worry about the cost. You could add it to your collection. Use it for Thyme's birthday."

I tightened my lips as he only smiled reassuringly at me. The attendant walks back to us with a small bag and the receipts/warranty. "Please sign here Monsieur Aira. And you're all set. The little pamphlet holds information about your warranty." He takes back his arm and hands the bag to me as he goes to sign. He sets the pen down and the attendant thanks him, "Have a good day." 

Ren walks with me and the guard holds the door open for us. I look down at the bag that held the leather red case, holding a priceless possession. I looked up at him and stopped walking. He stops and looks back, our hands still intertwined. "What happened?" 

I sigh as I enclose the distance between us and wrapped my arms on top of his torso, by his neck. He slightly bent down to meet my face and I glided my hands over his smooth skin. "If you spoil me this much, you'll end up going bankrupt."

"Only for you, I'd do anything." 

My stomach felt sickly in love as I smiled at him. His eyes changed to desire as he watched me stare back at him. I looked down towards his lips, a motion I can't deny he caught. I met his eyes again and he seemed to wait for my next move. I gave him a small smile before I placed a soft kiss on his lips. I broke it and blushed profusely, leaving him in a daze.

He blinked in surprise as I let go and walked in front of him. "That it?" he says as he ran to catch up beside me. I shrugged and he said, "All I had to do was pay 10,000 just for you to kiss me." 

I laughed, "I would've done it regardless of if you paid 10,000." 

He took my hand in his and said, "That was the most expensive kiss of my life." 

...

"What is in your future?" 

Mr. Samsara pointed to the stack of papers on his desk. "What are your goals? What do you want to accomplish?" I scratched the back of my neck as I tapped my pen on my notebook. He looked around the class and said, "People can influence your decisions all they want but, your desires are stronger." 

"Is this an all-about-me project teach?", someone joked at the back of the class. I peeked behind me and saw a few of the class clowns snickering. "Who said that? Stand." 

The class grew silent as the guy shook his head and stood up, proud and boisterous. "Ah, Lay, is it?"

The snide dude only chews his gum and nods sheepishly. "What's your dream?", he asked. Lay only shrugged, "I don't know, to become the richest man in the world." His friends laughed at him, but Mr. Samsara interjected, "That is a true ambition. It is not something to be laughed at." The posse instantly silenced. 

"Now tell me. Do you have a certain plan...a trajectory to fulfilling your goal?" 

Lay only shrugs, "I don't know."

Mr. Samsara tilts his head up, "Your father is a start-up investor. Is that right?" 

"Yes."

"You have an advantage with your father's company," Mr. Samsara states. Lay only looks off in annoyance and impatience. Mr. Samsara asks, "You don't want to work in your father's company?" 

Lay responded, "My dad told me to make something of myself. He doesn't believe in generational inheritance."

Mr. Samsara nods, "It's actually good you know that information. So, you could plan ahead. Well, do you have a plan?" 

Lay doesn't respond instead, stands in embarrassment as he felt the stares of his companions. Mr. Samsara returns to his seat and raises his hand towards Lay, "You may sit." Lay follows his command and sits as his friends tease him, pushing him around. Mr. Samsara only needs to shoot a warning look to make them stop. 

He looks at all of us and says, "This is why I want to assign this assignment to you. It may seem juvenile but, you are in the third year. I know a good chunk of you have decided what you want to be, and where you want to go to college. If you even decide to." 

"For those who have plans and have a direct path to your ambitions–look at this assignment as a more fleshed out "map" for your future. Who knows, once you've done research...you might even change your minds."  

Mr. Samsara narrows his eyes and points to the projected PowerPoint, "You'll have till the end of the term to do this. Don't procrastinate, I am not accepting late work. I want a full report about which field, career, or specialty you want to be in. If you can't choose between two or three–pick the one that has more pros than cons."

He begins passing the stack of paper to each desk, "This will be your final project, there will be no final exam so, your grade depends on how well you do this."

The class groans as they pass down the rest of the papers to each other. Mika, my sparkly, eccentric, very blunt seatmate handed me a two-page packet and I smiled, "Thank you." She smiles back as I read the contents. "Class ends in a few minutes so; you'll have time to think about your plans," Mr. Samsara

I turned the page and see a rough template of how he wanted us to format this paper. I massaged my fingers with the plastic exterior of my lead pencil as I read the words: "career". Mika leans towards me and whispers, "Have you decided what you're going to specialize in?" 

"Oncology." 

"Oh. I was under the impression that you were doing something like Ren...since you're his fiancé and all." 

I paused and addressed her, "What do you mean?" 

She chuckled, "People who marry into a rich family like that...don't even need to work a day in their life. I'd consider you lucky." I blinked and felt the negative connotation of her words. I dropped my pencil and looked at her, "You're making assumptions based on matters that are not your business."

"But that's your life already, right? You're marrying into F4. Your future from here on out is decided for you by your family, by strangers," she declared.    

"I want to break that cycle. I want to be a designer," she says, a determined look dawning on her face. 

"Law was already my sister's threshold. She is the prodigy of our family, so my mother believes," she rolled her eyes as she wrote diligently on her paper. She continued, "Besides." Mika looks up at me, "I don't believe in legacies and traditions. I come from a family of esteemed judges, prosecutors, and politicians. But I want to make a name for myself. Duty for your family destroys any ambition or goal you have. It beats it to a pulp, chains you down to oblivion, and makes you lose yourself. I refuse to be that way." 

I blinked and the bell rang, causing an immediate bustle of desks and chairs–students running to be the first out of the classroom. Mika stood and collected her materials, putting them in her bedazzled, uniquely dressed bag. She waves at me, her dainty array of bracelets clinking against each other, "No hard feelings, I have a tendency to go on tangents." 

I scoffed as she walks nonchalantly out of the classroom, and I chased after her. My heart raced after a few strides, "Mika! Wait." 

Mika turns around, stopping in her tracks–her backpack slung on one shoulder. An eyebrow raised as a few students walked past me. I stepped out and asked, "You don't think I have dreams of my own? Or do you think I'm just some pawn in someone else's game." My voice grew louder with every word, prompting people around us to cast stares in our direction. 

She smirks and shrugs, "That's what everyone else thinks. But who am I to tell you who you are? You already decided for yourself." She looks towards my left hand–my ring. "See you, next class." Mika walks off, leaving me with a mind full of doubt and questions. That's what everyone else thinks. As people walked by me, I felt them looking at me. My body shook apprehensively, my nerves were singing an unpleasant song to my hands, my legs, and my spine. I couldn't move until someone bumped their shoulder on my arm, whispering, "Trophy wife." 

I hid my face from view and pushed through a few people to get back into the class. They yelled in protest but, I didn't care and quickly collected my things–my hands shaking as I stuffed papers inside my bag. I needed to get out.

...

My butt felt sore sitting on one of mom's desk chairs. She had the ones with the wheels so, whenever I was in the office, I would play around–knocking things, hitting drawers, and annoying the hell out of mom. I don't know what it is with doctor's offices, their thermostat would feel like the arctic winter, at –15* C. Her room smelled so much of disinfectant; your nose would scrunch up from the smell if you weren't used to it. Mom was sitting in front of me, typing away at her keyboard–her fingers going at 10 MPH, typing 500 words a minute. She had that serious, concentrated expression with furrowed eyebrows that are bound to give someone a headache. 

I looked around towards the printer, which sat on its own little table to the right end of her desk. I stood and went to take a piece of paper. I returned to my seat and took a red pen from her cup of pens. I'm not much of a drawer but, I often liked to scribble my signature.  

"Nova, if you're coming to the office without anything to do, you should go home." 

"I want to stay with you though," I said. 

Mom looked skeptical at me, and I sent her a playful smirk. She stops typing and folds her arms on top of each other, "Once I'm done, we'll go home" 

I bobbed my head, "Ok." 

She goes back to typing and I looked at her white coat, draped on a coat hanger. I stood up and took a closer look. I took the sleeve where her name was stitched on, Dr. Preecha Sansithorn. I felt the polyester-cotton fabric in my hands. It felt clean-cut and held an inexplainable prestige. As I gazed at the lab coat, Mom asked, "Would you like to try it on?" 

I looked back at her and saw her chair was completely turned to face me. I smirked, "Sure." 

Mom stood up and walked towards me, "Try it." I took the coat and put it on. As soon I was cloaked, mom straightened the sleeves and pulled the wrinkles from the sleeves. "There. You look like a doctor." 

I looked down and noticed it touched just above my knees, "I get why doctors wear lab coats all the time. It makes you feel confident and esteemed." 

Mom only chuckles, "You'll wear one of your own in no time." 

I smiled and took it off, feeling exposed and naked. I turn towards the coat rack and drape it on a hook. I glided my fingers against the fabric and felt a deep yearning to accomplish my dream of becoming a doctor...but could I beat the odds, the expectations, and the judgment?

Mom goes to turn off her computer and collect her bag, "Let's go home?" 

...

The road lit red and green as mom drove us away from the hospital. I looked out the window and caught the fluorescent lights of an ambulance driving behind us toward the emergency room. "Did you ever work in the emergency room?" 

"I did, for the first two years in my residency before I moved to neurosurgery." 

"What was it like?", I asked. 

"It's hard work, intensive but, adrenaline rushing at the same time. I enjoyed it but, my goal was the area I'm in right now." 

She peeks at me before focusing back on the road, "Are you thinking of working in the ER?" 

"I don't know," I said in a dejected tone. Mom glanced at me in surprise, "Weren't you looking into oncology?" 

These past few weeks, I was so focused on Ren and everyone else, I hadn't been thinking about the colleges I want to go to. My plans were always set out for me–all I had to do was follow them. With Ren, I hadn't expected any of this. It was almost like getting hit by something that completely frazzled you and turned your life upside down. 

I hesitated before giving my answer. I picked at the skin of my thumb as I said, "Someone told me...in class today...how she refused to follow tradition. Instead, she was following her own dreams of success, and not by the influence of her family." 

"Okay.." 

I bit my tongue about what Mika said about me having no backbone to fight for myself. For what I wanted. Instead, I shrugged, embarrassed, "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I don't know what I want these days." 

Mom didn't answer, instead, she pulled off the main road and parked on the side. I looked at her in confusion as she clicked her seatbelt off, turning her body to face me. "I don't want you to feel obligated to a profession because of me or dad. It should be your choice."

My head rested against the headrest, "Don't worry mom. I just sometimes lose focus; I know I want to be a doctor." She smiles and drives back on the road, "Good because we need to talk about job shadows, internships, and recommendations for programs..."

I tuned her out and half-listened to what she was saying. My fingers played around with my pendant that hung around my neck, my ring clinking its metal on the opal stone. I had to be sure of