￭ MAFIA / GANG AU
A burning rose brings good luck yet if a single petal touches the floor that belief would be tarnished into bad luck
A group of teenagers just trying to get through their life walking down their own path of fate which lead them to...
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One... Two... Three... Four.
Opal exhaled sharply, the sound carrying the frustration that had been building within her like a storm cloud. She peeled her elbows from the countertop, the movement small but weighted, her muscles stiff with weariness. Fatigue clung to her like an unwelcome spectre, a heavy presence that seeped into her very bones. Her spirit sagged under its relentless grip, every passing second pulling her further into a chasm of exhaustion.
She refused to look at the clock. Its ceaseless ticking, a metronome of her dwindling patience, was a reminder she could not bear to face. Instead, she turned away, as if by ignoring its rhythm she might halt the flow of time itself.
Patience, frayed and fragile, threatened to snap.
By this hour, she would normally have closed the shutters, locked the door, and started her walk home. But now it was 10:10 p.m., and the café's glow still illuminated the four familiar faces of her Wednesday regulars. Two women, two men - a middle-aged quartet with a penchant for gossiping, lingered as if they owned the place. Week after week, their routine tested Opal's patience like clockwork.
Hospitality was a craft Opal prided herself on. She loved seeing customers return, delighting in the treats she prepared with care. But these patrons? They strained her good will. What she despised most wasn't their loud chatter or the way they stretched her closing hours. It was their air of entitlement, the way they treated her as though her youth diminished her value, as though being a student made her some lesser fixture of the café.
Their condescension grated on her nerves. She could feel it in the dismissive way they spoke, their assumption that life's real challenges were beyond her grasp simply because she wasn't yet of voting age. What a load of self-important nonsense. Age had nothing to do with hardship, and Opal knew that all too well.
Yet, as an employee, Opal always restrained herself from intervening in their absurd conversations. It wasn't her place, after all. Still, her one modest wish remained the same: for them to leave before closing hours.
It wasn't too much to ask. In fact, it was her right as the one responsible for locking up. But, ever the consummate professional, Opal had never allowed herself to be demanding. Instead, she wore her patience like armour, though it frayed at the edges with every lingering minute.
Steeling herself, she approached their table, her heart pounding with the determination to finally assert herself. She mustered a polite yet firm tone, interrupting their lively exchange with a sweetness she'd carefully rehearsed.
"Excuse me," she began. But her words vanished into the hum of their self-absorbed chatter, swallowed whole by their obliviousness. Frustration simmered as she tried again, her voice sharpening with each syllable.
"Excuse me!" she repeated, her determination palpable.
Still, nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
