She was too busy typing away on her laptop that she barely even noticed the text notification on her phone. It took a second notification to come in for her to notice.
Ah, I’m guessing you’re working OT. You’ll be in your office yes?
“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath. They were supposed to have dinner together at their favourite street stall. She checked her watch while contemplating on whether she should make a run for it. The stall was only two blocks from her office.
Another notification. This time it came from her laptop’s mail inbox.
I’ve attached the second file here. This has to be linked to the previous paragraph. In the file, there are also audio interviews with the locals. I need you to phrase it and include them in the last section.
It was her chief editor. She groans, on the brink of tears as she rubs her eyes. Guess that rules out the possibility of meeting him. Why did no one ever told her adulthood would be so bitter?
I’m sorry Yoongs…There’s a big project going on and my chief wanted me to piece it together. Get a raincheck for that dinner?
She sighs as she watches her text flying off in binary codes to his phone. Usually, she was the type to see life as half full but now, her glass was completely empty.
“Is the raincheck possible now?”
The sound of his voice startled her. “Oh, what are you doing here?” she asked, surprised at the unexpected visit.
“Would it be too cocky for me to say that I predicted how the events of tonight would play out so I bought the food beforehand?” he grinned.
The smell of freshly cooked noodles awoke her sense. She was now dizzy with hunger, not even realising that the last time she ate was almost 10 hours ago. “Cocky or not, you brought food,” she squeals in delight as he uncovers the box.
Yoongi chuckled at his girl. It was a bittersweet moment for him. Yes, he was happy to see her delighted but it only showed how hard she has been pushing herself all day to the point where she forgot to eat.
“Take the whole thing,” he smiled as he pushed the box of noodles. “Eat all you want. I bought enough.” He sits beside her, feeling content at seeing her eating. Ah, his girl is so hardworking. Sometimes even more than he is.
The room was silent, apart from the soft snores that drift in and out. She snuggles deeper into the comforter, trying to chase away the cold that lingers on the tips of her toes. The golden rays of the sun broke through the cracks of the curtain and reached out to her. Its warmth swayed her from her sleep. Sighing, she opens her eyes to let the morning in.
“Babe, can you close the curtains…I don’t like the sun,” rasped a voice beside her.
She shot out of her bed, frightened by the extra body on her bed. What happened last night?! Why can’t she remember? Why was he in her bed? What did they do?!
“Yah…Yah!! Why are you here?!” she shakes his body.
“Ah why are you loud in the morning…I’m trying to sleep,” he teases her, giving her a sleepy smile.
Supposed photo of at least one “Armagh Sniper”, nicknamed either “Goldfinger” or “Terminator”, armed with one of the dreaded Barrett M82 .50 caliber rifles that were smuggled into Ireland in 1986.
“What’s special about the Barrett is the huge kinetic energy… The bullet can just walk through a flak jacket. South Armagh was the prime place to use such weapon because of the availability of Brits. They came to dread it and that was part of its effectiveness.” —Unidentified member of the South Armagh Brigade sniper teams