Light in the shadows

9: Coincident not fate

Double update guys!! I need your comments!

CAMILA

OCTOBER, 2022.

I always thought instagram was a weapon fashioned against the working class of the society. But as I surfed more through the pink application, I realised the degree as to how that was an understatement. Because tell me why I keep scrolling through my feeds and explore page, and I continuously come across items I'd never be able to afford, places I'd never be opportune to step foot in, food I'd never be privileged to sniff and clothes I would never be opportune to be in more than ten feet apart from—not unless I get a job at a multi millionaire clothing brand. Which I'm hundred percent certain I wouldn't be able to pronounce the brand's name.

Once they have a clear sight of my hideous wardrobe collection, they wouldn't want me anywhere near their glamour house. Referring to what I have in the wardrobe I share with my abuelita as a collection is laughable, seeing as I knew how many clothes I owned off hand.

Ever since Tia introduced me to a more marketable media at the party they hosted,  I've gotten a bit too carried away with the content that came with the media application. I posted two pictures of my favourite paintings but between three weeks, I've gained a total of ten followers and five likes on the posts combined.

My first follower was Tia obviously, then my grandmother, who surprisingly had the app for years. Trust me, I felt like I was the fifty eight year old when Abuelita was helping me set up the app. I got James and Ayla to follow me up too. The other five people were usual customers at the Golden Haven whom Abuelita may or might've not bullied them with her spatula into following me up.

God, I love that woman.

Luu, on the other hand, said she wasn't going to follow me up till I reach at least five hundred followers. She said she had a reputation at stake if she were to follow back someone with less than a thousand followers. Even if that person happened to be me. I wouldn't blame her though.

"Oyibo!"

My head snapped up at the sharp sociopathic voice that never failed to send shivers down my spine. "Yes, ma'am!" I faked a wide smile.

"No phones during working hours!" Deborah, our perfectionist sociopathic manager, snapped, narrowing her witchy eyes at me.

"Sorry. I was just checking my new Instagram posts to check whether or not—you don't care, do you?" I sighed, biting my bottom lips as I passed a sympathetic smile to her, who seemed like she was ready to rip off of my face.

Her lips formed a thin line, "I don't care."

"Of course you don't. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again—shit, sorry!"  The apology flew from my mouth when I mistakenly stepped on her expensive looking platforms with my uniform loafers.

She let out a groan of utter frustration, "The more you remain in my presence, the more you keep irritating me! Off you go! The customers are waiting."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry for the—"

She seemed like she was going to rip away her new bob wig if I continued talking. Her eyes darted at me before shoving me aside. "Just go for Christ sakes! Go before you mess up something again."

"Let me guess, you Camilled things with the she devil." Aisha sent the orders to James's work tablet which was connected to the mini projector on the wall.

"Don't even start, Aisha." Aisha and James were my co-workers and the closest thing I had to friends. We were friendly and knew a bit about each other, but using the friend title was just too big.