Colours of my soul (Oneshot series)

Ron Weasley

The silence within the antique shop was almost deafening. Not that the store had ever been bustling, but it was past two in the afternoon and still, no customers had passed through the door, which was quite unusual for a Saturday.

You tried to fight the tendency to go crazy in that boredom, leaning over the counter and reading one of the books you had picked up from the literature section while humming a tune you had heard on the way to work.

You would have never guessed that your early twenties would be like this: working behind the counter of an antique shop almost as old as the items within it, saving penny by penny to try to afford a good college, with no close friends and still unable to see colours. You couldn't help but think that your teenage self would have a lot to say if she could see the state of your life at the moment, and it wouldn't be very kind.

You used to be certain that you would find your soulmate when you turned twelve. When it didn't happen, you were sure it would be in high school, and once again, you were wrong. You thought maybe they would be at work, or on the street, but still nothing.

Now, you weren't so sure anymore.

Finding a soulmate was a privilege that many people never achieved, and you were beginning to believe that you were most likely part of that statistic. Your parents weren't soulmates, nor were your grandparents, and neither were your great-grandparents. Maybe it just didn't run in the family blood.

Either way, you had more important things to worry about now. The daydreaming teenage years had passed, and now you needed to work to live, pay the bills, and help your parents. Adulthood had arrived, and there was no more time to stress about something you couldn't control.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, pulling you out of your book trance, and your eyes wandered straight to the door, where two extremely tall guys were standing. It didn't take you more than a second to notice they were twins.

"Good afternoon, miss!" One of them greeted with a smile.

"Good afternoon. What are you looking for today?" You closed the book and tucked it under the counter, straightening up to assist the customers.

"It's our father's birthday this week," the other said as they approached the counter. "He really likes these mug—" He seemed to stumble over his words. "Antique things. We thought of getting something like that as a gift for him."

"This is definitely the right place." You smiled. "What were you thinking? Anything specific?"

"We don't really understand this stuff, to be honest. If you could guide us, that would be great." The slightly taller one shrugged.

"I'm the right person for that too. I'll gather some items and help you choose."

Most things seemed to not interest them, and you were beginning to lose hope when one of them pointed to a small item on one of the nearby tables and asked, "What's that small thing? The round one. It's pretty."

"It's a music box," you explained. "Would you like to see it?"

"Yes... But what's a music box?" You struggled not to let your shock show on your face, so as not to offend them. How could someone not know what a music box was?

"Well," you went to the table and carefully picked up the fragile porcelain box, placing it in front of the twins. "When you lift the lid, it plays a tune." You lifted the lid, revealing a ballerina, but no music played.

"It's not playing any music."

"No." You agreed. "It's very old, it doesn't work anymore. It definitely needs repair." Great, you thought, another sale you wouldn't make.