╰┈➤In a world where the line between life and death blurs, a girl named Kwon Dae is haunted by the tragic loss of her five childhood friends, in a devastating car crash. Three months after their funeral, Dae's nights are filled with vivid visions an...
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I furrow my brow, my fingers delicately pinching the note between them as I glance her innocent smile to the mysterious note, she's handed me.
"What's this for?" I ask, raising a brow.
"I don't know. Someone asked me to give this to you!" I blink, still processing her words. "And who was it?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
The girl's large, dark eyes dart from side to side, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. Leaning in ever so slightly, she whispers in a voice so soft, it barely reaches my ears. "It's a secret."
Her words hang in the air like a delicate thread, laced with an air of mystery that sends a shiver down my spine. Then, just as swiftly as she spoke, she pulls away, leaving me standing there, the weight of her whispered confession lingering.
A smirk tugs at the corners of my lips, my gaze growing playful. She's a cheeky little thing, that's for sure. I raise an eyebrow, twirling the note between my fingers as I fix her with a playful stare. "A secret, huh?"
As I begin to unfurl the small, crumpled note, a gasp escapes from the girl's lips. In a swift, her tiny hands intercede, gently halting my progress. "No, not now!" she insists, her voice carrying an air of urgent mystery. "Open it at 5.53 P.M!"
I gaze at the girl, bewildered, and then glance back at the clock sitting on the counter. My eyes dart to the time-3:48 P.M.
"5:53 P.M. is too exact, don't you think?" I query, my tone mingling curiosity with amusement.
The girl remains silent, her lips pressed firmly together, her tiny head bobbing up and down in affirmation. I chuckle softly as I fold the note once more and tuck it into my pocket.
"Alright, alright" I say with a smile "I'll open it at 5:53. Now off you go-take your food and run to your mom. She's waiting for you."
The girl's face brightens as she clutches the plastic bag and skips over to her mother, who stands near the exit. I watch as the little girl animatedly shares her excitement, her joyful chatter carrying across the café. The pair eventually makes their way out, leaving the café with a wave of happy energy trailing behind them.
I cast one final glance at the pocket of my apron, where the note now rests, and turn my attention back to attending to the customers.
The task, though seemingly simple, is far from effortless. Standing for hours on end, forced to maintain a genuine smile despite a lack of enthusiasm, feels like a relentless trial-a form of torment that even the infernal depths of hell might find difficult to rival.
