The Heart I Choose

The Heart I Choose
DREAM



Prologues


Introduce my name Mia, the son of a father who works as an amateur photographer and impromptu if there is a celebration. My father was married to a single-born widow who joined his grandmother in Java. My birth mother has long abandoned me and my sisters, since then we have never met again, nor do I care and will never look for her. I chose to live with my wicked Father and stepmother always easy for me to forgive, but not for my brothers they prefer to stay away and stay at the house of Aunt Vienna my father's sister.


I just graduated Junior High not because of stupidity but because of the poverty of my parents, but I have other capital that will be able to make rich men approach, my beautiful face, my rich man, my skin is white and my body is tall. My simple goals are to be rich or at least have a rich husband.


It turned out that the dream was not easy for me to realize, the rich man was not easily conquered, the prince preferred a Princess. How many times do they prefer to retreat rather than treasure only to the poor uneducated women.


But my dream will still be realized even though later I am not happy because of it, because I continue to be a victim of his lies.


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"Miiaaa, someone's picking you up!" Santi shouted while I was still busy tidying up the sales notes today.


"Who's San?" while I looked out at the glass, I saw Mas Wandi, a man who a week ago changed a motorcycle tire at the store where I work now.


The man asked for my phone number and continued asking for news every time.


His name is Wandi, an employee of the village.


He said his house was close to this store, of course I don't know, because every contact only he told me a lot.


"Hi Mas, how are you?" ask me for a little chat, "You want to pick me up, okay?" the question that didn't need an answer should have been, because I already knew, he told her this morning.


"No, just a fad," he replied like he was teasing me.


"Hehehe, wait, I'll clean this up after that go straight home."


"cie.cie.there's a shy one." Santi teases me, he's my friend who works at this store together, but I go in first than he does. I also threw the scribbled paper trash I had rounded towards Santi. I am actually ashamed.


After I finished I went straight to Wandi's mas, and shouted towards Santi, "San, I first ya...!!"


Mas Wandi picked me up with a big bike, that bike a week ago changed the rear tyre at the workshop where I worked. While the motorcycle tire was replaced by a mechanic, mas Wandi always invited me to chat. That was the beginning of my meeting with him. At the end he asked for my phone number, because I was comfortable, we also exchanged phone numbers.


"Would you go home or eat first?" mas Wandi surprised me from my momentary daydream.


It feels like this trip feels very far, the house I used to travel with twice public transportation, but this time it feels very long when riding a motorcycle with him.


I rarely want to actually be invited to piggyback like this, because neighbors in housing whose homes are clinging to each other, will whisper when I pass them, especially this if chatting with men.


Along the way I kept quiet more, thinking about what I should answer if Dad asked, who is he? My stepmother will look at me with a look I don't know what it means.


"Whose house is it?" it turns out I've arrived at a very modest housing that Dad bought 10 years ago.


"So Mas, then the second alley turns left, my house is at the end, paint green."


The alley that can only be passed by 2 motorcycles is getting narrower in the afternoon, mothers will gather while watching their children, who run around and hide.


"Excuse me Buk!!" I greet every group of mothers I pass by.


"Just come home Mia?" ask one of them, even though I can't see who's asking, but I'm sure it's the voice of Miss Lastri whose house is right next to Dad's.


Even if it's just a pleasant question, but I still answer it. To me the neighbor is the closest brother to this time.


"Let's go!"


Mas Wandi parked his motorcycle in front of Dad's house.


"Is Dad not home?"


"Maybe there's Mas, usually Dad's at home every afternoon."


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Forgive if there are errors in writing, punctuation and storyline, please kindly give suggestions that can help the author in improving it.


Greetings from novice writers who still have much to learn 💜💜