Song of the Firebird

Twenty Seven

Only a handful of tables were occupied. Lizzie's was roomy until the starting of the happy hour, post lunch.

Drew was going through a magazine from the small bookshelf close to one of the corner tables. Zoya and Iqbal took in charge of the counter and the working space. Natasha was looking over the accounts for that month and making orders wherever possible, inside the café and over the internet.

Since their moment alone, Zoya and Iqbal's friendship went downhill. For the first time in years, Zoya stopped swearing and arrived on time and Iqbal was swearing aloud whenever he could get some alone time. Both had also been avoiding each other ever since their spat over Ryder's visit. Zoya ignored Iqbal since their private talk and their volatile behaviour was pin pointed out by some of their regulars to Natasha. A week's time of Natasha's fixing both of her staffs, not just for the sake of café alone, went like a dust sprayed in the air.

Iqbal took the order from the customer and passed the receipt to Zoya. The latter plucked the paper from the former's hands, resulting in tearing the paper to two halves. Iqbal glared at her lack of maturity and was shot an outweighing glare from the woman.

As Zoya finished making the drink, she passed it to the recipient. When there was no one else on the other side of the counter, Iqbal scooted close to Zoya and grabbed her palm. He rubbed his thumb on each of her fingers. His dark black orbs admired her long finger bones and the tan lines surrounding the non-existent ring's place in her middle finger. Suddenly, her fingers shifted and her thumb nail pressed deeper into his hands, taking out a drop of blood with it.

'Ouch, Zoya!' Iqbal screamed, attracting attention from both Natasha and Drew. The employee-employer couple drew in closer to see the drama. Drew swiftly unlocked his phone and opened the Camera.

'Keep your hands to yourself', lashed out Zoya. Her eyes widened and dropped her usual glare. She was fighting to drop that first tear. 'Touch me again,' her index finger jabbing at Iqbal's apron, she whispered, 'Don't you dare.' She threw away her apron at his scowling face and turned to Natasha, 'I would like to go on leave for today and tomorrow, boss.'

Natasha assented by giving a nod. Zoya marched to her locker and picked up her backpack and coat. Without sparing a glance at her colleagues, she left the café. When Iqbal tried to follow her, Natasha said, 'Your shift is about to end in an hour.'

'Ooh! Another burn for the Lover Boy!', snickered Drew.

'Shut the f*ck up!' Iqbal flared at his nickname by Drew. The latter responded by showing off his teeth, chewing gum. Riled up beyond his patience limit, Iqbal almost punched Drew's jaw. A hand stopped both the men from coming at each other, landing on their torsos.

'This is not the boxing ring, for god's sake! There are abandoned alleys to outperform yourselves. One more word from both of you, I am calling cops.' Natasha's threat seemed to sink in their minds. A new set of part timers had taken the shift from Iqbal and Drew, leaving Natasha with a different set of trouble. The rest of the afternoon passed without any incidents beyond the happy hour.

Answering her hunger demands, Natasha took a break from her duties and left the café for a takeout dinner. Courtesy of Subway, she bought herself a tuna sub meal and a roasted chicken breast wrap. The whiff of cold air brought a smile over her slips. She was taken back to the time when she spent that night, sleeping with Jay in his balcony. She would never try that stunt again in her place, unless he crashed at her place. That man was slowly pulling her to his weird realm, she thought. She had never felt better trying different things. Her past records were vandalism, fist fights and making out in creepy places, before her aunt helped her hidden talents, only the good ones, surface.