I'm Allergic to Popularity [Dating Show]

Mo Jimeng was famous in her circle for being a contrarian. Her motto was, “The more people like something, the less interested I am.”

So when she learned she would be on the same dating show as Fan Wu, she felt nothing at all. Fan Wu was the one everyone online called their ideal woman, the girl everybody had a crush on? Then she was sure she wouldn't care.

On the first day of filming, the whole room erupted in cheers when Fan Wu walked in. The comments flooded with [Wife] [Sis, kill me]... Mo Jimeng watched coldly from the corner, thinking: What's the big deal? She's just a little pretty.

Then Fan Wu walked past her, leaving a waft of fragrance in her wake.

Mo Jimeng's nose twitched. It smelled kind of nice. She froze for a moment, then quickly put on a stern face. No, she couldn't let herself be swayed by popular taste. I, Mo Jimeng, will never follow the crowd!

As it turned out, the two of them were randomly assigned to share a room on the very first day.

Mo Jimeng kept a calm face while falling apart inside. Why did it have to be her? What was worse, Fan Wu's things started appearing in her space.

On the first day, Mo Jimeng noticed a faint fragrance on her pillow. Frowning, she turned it around to sleep on the other side.

On the second day, the scent was stronger. She flipped the pillow over.

On the third day, she fell asleep hugging the pillow. When she woke, Fan Wu was looking at her.

“...You're hugging my pillow,” Fan Wu said.

Mo Jimeng handed it back without changing expression. “Here.” She didn't mention how good she'd slept.

Mo Jimeng thought it was a fluke, but things started getting out of hand.

One day, Fan Wu went out. While Mo Jimeng was tidying up, her gaze fell on the shirt draped over the back of a chair.

She frowned. Why does she leave her things lying around?

She swore she reached for it to throw it onto Fan Wu's bed.

But the moment she touched the fabric, that fragrance wafted over her, stronger than usual, softer, more intoxicating. Mo Jimeng's hand froze in midair. She told herself to throw it away, but her hand wouldn't move. By the time she came to her senses, her face was buried in the shirt.

Soft fabric rested against her cheek, and the fragrance wrapped around her. She took a deep breath, then another, then one more...

There was only one thought in her head: How does it smell so good... How can it smell this good... What is she made of...

The door suddenly opened. Mo Jimeng froze, the shirt still pressed against her face. She slowly turned and met Fan Wu's eyes.

Fan Wu looked at her, then at the shirt in her hands, and slowly raised an eyebrow.

“...What are you doing?”

Mo Jimeng was silent for three seconds, then expressionlessly lowered the shirt from her face. “Your shirt is dirty,” she said. “I was checking whether it needs washing.”

Fan Wu: ?

Fan Wu: “...Checking?”

Mo Jimeng nodded, looking so composed you'd think she was doing something perfectly normal. “Mm. It smells. I recommend washing it.”

With that, she shoved the shirt into Fan Wu's hands, turned, and strode toward the door with tremendous momentum, then ran straight into the doorframe.

Fan Wu watched her stagger out, one hand over her forehead. She glanced down at the shirt in her hands and couldn't help laughing.

That night, Mo Jimeng returned to the room and found the shirt neatly folded on her pillow.

A note was tucked beside it:

“Since you're worried it's dirty, please smell it again and figure out what it is that had you sniffing it for so long.”

Mo Jimeng looked at the note. Her ears slowly began to burn. She looked down at the shirt, then the note, then the shirt again.

Three seconds later, she buried her face in it and took a deep breath, then wished she could beat herself to death.

Just then, a soft laugh came from the doorway. Mo Jimeng jerked her head up and saw Fan Wu leaning against the doorframe. She had no idea when she'd returned.

“Why is your face so red?” Fan Wu asked.

Mo Jimeng hid the shirt behind her back and said without expression, “I'm allergic to you.”

Fan Wu raised an eyebrow, her gaze falling on the hand hidden behind Mo Jimeng's back. “But you're addicted to my shirt?”

Mo Jimeng: “...”

The commenters were the ones smiling now.

[Sister Mo: I'm allergic to her. Sister Mo's nose: Yeah, right]

[She said she was checking whether the shirt was dirty. I almost believed her]

[The production team should give Mo Jimeng's nose its own camera]

Theme: Love life and embrace spring