Carmen Saunders is put to the test in choosing between inclinations that she did not think she would reach and the permanent war waged in her heart when she meets the Bill Kaulitz, the man who she always dreamed of.
She fakes her own death as her w...
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second cassette-one note
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The cafe Carmen entered had walls that were adorned with eclectic art pieces, giving the space a cozy yet vibrant atmosphere. Small, round tables were scattered throughout the cafe, each paired with mismatched chairs that added to the bohemian charm. In one corner, a couple of plush armchairs surrounded a low coffee table, creating a more intimate seating area.
Despite the cheerful surroundings, Carmen couldn't shake her frustration, her attention divided between the charming environment and the unsatisfactory experience she had just encountered.
"I want to be seated right there." Carmen said, pointing to a cozy table by the window, bathed in the afternoon sunlight.
"I can take your name down, but you need to wait." the hostess replied, her tone courteous but firm as she glanced at the reservation list.
"For how long?" Carmen asked, her brows furrowing in slight irritation.
"For at least twenty minutes."
Carmen looked around the bustling cafe, her eyes landing on a few empty tables. "I saw those tables over there. Can I sit there?" she inquired, trying to keep her frustration in check.
"I am sorry, ma'am. They are reserved." the hostess responded, her smile tight but professional.
Carmen sighed and decided to wait. A few minutes later, a waiter approached her with a menu.
"What would you like to order? Perhaps an irish tea? It is one of the best." the waiter suggested, his tone friendly.
"Thank you, but I think I know what I got in mind."
"Alright."
"A vanilla latte."
"Your drink will be ready in ten minutes."
"Thank you!" Carmen replied, settling into her chair.
Carmen grabbed her phone out of her purse to call Yvonne.
"Yvonne, I think I am in deep shit."
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"I am smelling dishsoap foam in my coffee." Carmen replied, her voice tight with frustration. She sat at the corner table of the bustling cafe, staring at the half-empty cup in front of her.
"Dishsoap?"
"Yes," Carmen said, her tone firm. "I am doing a complaint."
"Right now?" Yvonne asked, surprised.
"Yes. This is unacceptable."
"Sent me a picture with the proof, but make sure to complain about the poor service."
