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T W O  ✧  I  W I S H
. . .

DAYS GO BY rather slowly now that I am alone in the house. I dread the mornings, the nighttime silence is slowly killing me, and the only thing I look forward to is sleep—but in truth, I know that I shouldn't be like this. Usually, if something bad happens, I'd just go through it with my usual smile on my face, but this seems a bit different somehow.

Why do I feel so crappy?

Trust me, I would sulk around the house all day, but I actually have to go to work so all the grumbling and ice cream binging would have to wait for this evening. If I'm lucky, the restaurant would be packed with orders that require my service; hopefully that would distract me enough.

Come to think of it, though, it's only been a couple of days since Jina left, so I should understand that I simply need time to get used to her absence.

Giving myself one last look at the full-length mirror in front of me, I adjust the red bowtie that comes with my work uniform. I work—and I'm not even kidding you here—for a fast food restaurant called Hot Stuff Fried Chicken. I know. Whoever thought of the company's name were geniuses, weren't they?

Initially, I had wanted to work for this coffee chain called Caffé Bene, but they weren't hiring at the time so I had to go with whatever was available. I mean, working at the restaurant isn't even that bad, really; the co-workers are nice, the salary is acceptable, and, if you're lucky, the customers would give you generous tips—but either way, I suppose that I am in no place to be picky.

At first, halmeoni and hal-abeoji didn't agree to me working at some shabby fast food restaurant. They insisted that I should be at university concentrating on my studies instead, not trying to pay off debts—which, to be fair, I have none at all. However, being the convincing and hardworking granddaughter I am, they trust that I can take care of myself just fine with or without them. Besides, I'm lucky to be able to balance my education with my working hours, so that's another reason why my grandparents have never doubted me before.

I open the ebony door, and the moment I step out, I am embraced by the breezy autumn wind, making me all the glad to have worn my coat. Fishing a key out of my pocket, I lock the front door and get on the white bicycle that my parents got me for my birthday two years ago—the bittersweet year I turned fifteen, the pitiful year they got into a car accident.

See, that's probably why I rarely ride any car of sorts. I didn't see the accident unravel before me, thankfully enough, but I still regard it as rather traumatizing—but to be fair, who wouldn't?

I start cycling towards work, not exactly speeding but quick enough for me to feel the cold wind getting my lips dry. I swipe my tongue over them, afraid that they would chap, and keep them sucked in as to prevent them from freezing.

When I arrive at the parking lot of the red-tainted building, I park my bike and walk in it from the backdoor. Immediately, I fall into routine, which basically consists of me shoving my coat in my employee locker and helping out around the kitchen. Occasionally, when a customer orders for delivery, I'd of course stop whatever I'm doing and get on the company's bike—after all, I am the delivery girl.

Today, however, the atmosphere feels a little different. My co-workers seem nicer to me, if that's even possible, and they all give me sad glances every once in a while. To say that this puzzles me is only the beginning.

Why are they looking at me like that? Had they heard of what happened to Jina?

... Do they even know who Jina is?

Ever since I was young, I've always disliked the pitiful glances some people would give me. Like in elementary school, for example. A group of kids used to pick on me, and I would earn pitying looks from the teachers. Then my parents passed, and I had to see the same expression on every person I met's faces, making me sick to the stomach and caused me to look down as I walk, avoiding everyone's sad eyes.

When I can't take it anymore, I pull aside a co-worker, Kei, and ask her what's wrong. She doesn't seem to want to reply, though, and gives me a guilty look instead.

"Jungie-ah... I think you better talk to the manager about this." She quietly answers before quickly dismissing herself to serve some customers. Sighing, I make my way towards the manager's office and knock on the door. He tells me to come in, and I sit in the empty chair by his desk.

"What is it, Soo Jung?" He asks, his voice seemingly devoid of emotions.

"Is there something going on around here that I am not aware of, Sir?" I ask, and he instantaneously stiffens. He curses under his breath, murmuring to himself about people being transparent, and clears his throat before turning back to me and stating, "We need to let you go, Soo Jung."

Before I even have the time to process everything he just told me, he reaches for the drawer behind him and takes out a white envelope. The manager then places it in front me with a rather solemn look on his face. "Here is your last paycheck. I'm sorry, Soo Jung. But please get your things and say your goodbyes."

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THE MOMENT I get home, I go straight to bed. I don't even bother changing my clothes or eating dinner; all I do is lay there on top of the bed sheets, and close my eyes.

I wish everything would go right again.