Under the Rain

One

"ANOTHER CORPSE DISCOVERED UNDER THE HUDSON BRIDE AT 11:30 PM LAST NIGHT. REPORTS SAY THE BODY WAS ALLEGEDLY SLAUGHTERED AND-"

I flicked off the TV until the screaming BBC headlines were just a black blur. A half-burnt toast still dangling from my mouth and a backpack awkwardly slung over my shoulder, I locked my apartment and scurried into the flushed sunshine.

Mechanically, as ever, dressed in a 'Happy Health' black shirt and khaki trousers, I fumbled for my bike keys, hopped into the leather seat of my Salsa bike, and whooshed through the buzzy New York morning.

I dreaded my part-time job. Walking out of home every afternoon after five hours of college in the morning, with the same tedious duty of standing by the customer desk and haphazardly packing up the shopping bags so that the person in front of me could cherish a hearty family supper after they blissfully walk out of that one exit to which I would give anything to walk away from for once and ever.

I parked my bike in the middle of the parking lot just outside the green, three-storied building of Happy Health, and like every day, chained the vehicle and toyed with my keys on the way to the entrance of the peevishly awaiting Supermarket.

Once inside, however, in contrast to a sense of nagging frustration that never fails to greet me, a cool, refreshing breeze of the AC washed over my face. Tossing my bag in the locker room, I hastened to fill the slot in front of the customer desk, as people flooded in, carrying trolley-full of goodies.

"Roslyn, aren't you like, mega late? Or did  the clock freeze?" Eva called me from the adjacent counter. One of those nosey, uppity girls who get inside your nerves, every time they are around because they just can't understand the concept of 'Minding one's own business'.

"Oh," I muttered, without looking," my bike gave out." I sighed as I picked two baskets of plum cake for a wrinkled old lady, who was tetchily eyeing me through her thick-rimmed glasses as if she knew I was lying.

I tucked in the boxes into a Happy Health bag, pasted a smile, and wished her a good day before she left. It was not erroneous of her to look at me that way, that old lady. After all, how many more lies could I frame for my defense?

I can never tell my boss, Mr. Carter, a short, fidgety, grey-haired man, always maintaining the aura polished with an unapproachable arrogance, about how I'm working my way through Happy Health, not due to some genuine passion but simply because I needed to pay for my college fee. I could not tell him about how I contribute to his store in the evening only to attend five hours of college in the morning and sleep barely four hours at night because I had to ace the upcoming exams.

Firstly, if I told him, paranoid as he is, he would assume I'm not putting sweat and tears into my job and probably begin to focus primarily on my flaws.

Yesterday, he had already made it very clear to me how he was 'disheartened' with my ' irritable clumsiness/indifference/laziness' with my customers. Secondly, I didn't tell him because it simply wasn't needful. It wasn't as if a bomb would break out in the Supermarket if I didn't tell him. Right?

Finally, I heaved a sigh as the last man standing in the queue had filled out his goods. Grasping the tiny few minutes break that I got, I walked over to the coffee machine to make myself an espresso. Habitually fumbling in the same corner for a packet of sugar, I realized it was empty. I growled.

"Looking for this?" a voice came up from behind.

I turned around and froze.

There he was, looking divinely beautiful, his crisp brown hair tucked carelessly to the side, his twinkling blue eyes glued into me, a heart-fluttering smile playing on his red, red lips, with a parcel of sugar in his outstretched hand.