Valentine's day ??

Rida's dad and Lionel Messi

bruhhh im so sorry im not finishing this but i do have the complete planned out plot and ending written out so ill just post it at the end

Rida's dad

The mail I've desperately been waiting for has finally arrived. Well, it's more so a letter than actual mail.

The loud clank from my mailbox had me startled at first, but I sprinted right for the long awaited letter. Skimming the letter, the only thing that stuck out was the sorry at the beginning.

"Fucking hell! A rejection!"

My hand flew up to my head and pulled on my hair, tight. My other hand crumpled the letter into a tennis sized ball. I imagined ripping letter into tiny shreds, but I knew to be smarter than that. The small business loan I needed to afford a physical bakery didn't get approved. The advisor I worked with said that with my financial history, my financial credit, and the money I have currently, I'll easily get approved. The letter in my hand says otherwise though.

Rejection has always been with a little pest to me since day 1. Like, literally. I'm adopted. Not even an orphan, adopted. But I'm not saying this out of complete negativity, more so in a self-help, reflection tool perspective per se. Rejection has more so become a thing I work with now. It's no longer the pest I desperately wanted to get rid of.

But the reason why I'm so crushed about not getting approved was because my life long dream of wanting to be the owner of a bakery. But now that I've gotten older, my first attempt to make 6 year old me proud, failed.

With that in mind now, all I know is I have to return to my regular bakery job. Yahoo.

-

The drive to the bakery wasn't all too special. Played the playlist filled with old English hits. Again, nothing special.

But once I arrive to the bakery I've worked at for 3 years now, my boss greets me with a quick nod and smile like usual. He's a frail old man, but I can appreciate how his frail nature provides a gentle, kindness that surrounds everything.

I leave to change into more appropriate attire. Greasy, 4 day old, dark brown hair, caramel coloured eyes, a head shaped like the Moai heads, skin a sun kissed colour, with a peach undertone, and with a semi-nicely groomed beard. The reflection in the mirror looking back at me showed the signs of recent trauma that has been plaguing me for the past few days.

The signs of sadness that was present in my eyes not too long ago had faded away into stress. The small weight gain, the worsening dark circles, the sudden lack of concentration, confidence, and the carelessness I give to my appearance now. Stress is evident all throughout my body.

The ironic bit is that, how I'm feeling right now was better way better than how I felt 3 weeks ago. Life was absolute shit back then. My son, Rida, died in those depressing weeks.

It was a sudden death too. A car accident. Nothing prepared me emotionally and mentally for it, making the mourning process so raw with emotion, coming from the bottomless pit in my heart, filled entirely with the fatherly love I had for my son. I still grieve for him, I've barely gotten over his death physically, but I don't think I ever will psychologically.

Every moment and memory I relive with my son, a feeling of the world stopping, encroaches me. Everything was just me and him. No one else in our timeless bubble.

AN: Rida isn't actually dead irl 😁

With my mind in a trance, soft jiggles from the bells on the front door, snap me out of it. I do the last 2 buttons on my chefs coat, quickly throw on a branded apron, and run to greet the costumer.