English Version: Sands & Sparrow

8

"Miss Sinclair, the launch advertisement has already been prepared. All you need to do is sign the papers," the middle-aged assistant informed in a professional yet warm tone. Diana possessed a distinct, likable personality that was noticeably courteous and kind as she spoke.

Margo focused her eyes on the laptop screen. "That's fine, Diana. Just leave the papers," she responded with a smile.

"I can't help but notice, Miss Sinclair. You have an uncanny resemblance to your late grandmother; her eyes were brown. You may have different eyes, but you look the same," Diana reminisced, her mind drifting back to when she started as a working student.

"Well, you're not the only one who told me." Amusement played on the corner of Margo's mouth. She had a history of changing the color of her eyes and disappearing to fake her death. After half a century, she reappeared with a new identity, turning the world into more of a home or a playground. Adopting new characters became Margo's way of spending her eternity.

After Diana left, Margo sipped her warm coffee, the morning sun gently brushing her cheeks. Slivers of light peeped through the glass panels, casting golden stripes across her face. Closing her computer, Margo's lips quirked up at the corners.

She then proceeded to her walk-in closet, selecting cotton pants and a matching shirt, complemented by white sneakers. "Diana, can you cancel all my appointments?" Margo informed the secretary through the intercom.

"Okay, Miss Sinclair. As of now, you have no appointments for today." Margo sighed in relief at the response. "That's wonderful. I'll go now. See you later, Diana." With that, she turned off the intercom.

Margo packed her things before leaving. She placed a book and other personal belongings in a small bag.

++++

It was a beautiful day in Manila. The week-long rain had washed the sidewalks and gutters clean, and a summery air lingered despite the traffic fumes. The city's liveliness returned instantly; clouds cleared, and the streets were a hum of activity.

In the heart of the vibrant city, Margo decided between the appeal of high-end establishments and the charm of quiet retreats. Yet her preference drew her to the unassuming embrace of a diner. Seated by the large glass panel, she enjoyed the view as a diligent male cleaner wiped away traces of dirt from the glass windows.

With the doorbell announcing the arrival of a new customer, attention shifted to a man garnished with a flashy display of golden jewelry. He confidently claimed a seat near the worn counter, demanding a beer with a voice that echoed through the cozy diner. "Hey, Paps! One beer!" The shout cut through the ambient chatter. Paps, the owner, a middle-aged man in casual clothes – a white shirt and rugged pants – swiftly responded. With practiced efficiency, he served the requested beer before returning to the task of polishing glasses with a crisp, white cloth.

The man's phone suddenly rang, causing him to answer with irritation. "Hey! Why'd you call?!" Though directed at the caller, his voice echoed loudly within the diner's confines. "What the hell do you mean? Relax! I'll deliver it, okay?! Screw you!" If the harshness of his tone could manifest physically, it would have reached out to strangle the tranquil ambiance surrounding the other customers. A college student couldn't help but twitch her lips at the grating sound.

"I'll wrap the package and drop it off at the rest house. You idiot! How many? Well, it should fit! It won't blow up the place!" He chuckled at the crude nature of their conversation, continuing to monopolize the phone conversation with an air of arrogance and intermittent laughter. "I'll talk to your boss. Just settle the payment! I don't care! You jerk. Screw anyone you want! Just pay up, you horny jerk!"