(Lucky Clover)
(Miguel POV)
The clock had long passed midnight, and the bar stood desolate, with only him as its solitary occupant. Suddenly, a soaked, rain-drenched man, his face marked by deep scars, settled onto a barstool. Water pooled on the floor and dripped from nearby surfaces, yet he seemed oblivious to it all. He paused his routine of polishing glasses and raised his gaze to the newcomer. "What can I get for you, sir?" he inquired, but the man remained silent, his intense stare fixed on him, expectant.
"It's been a while, Miguel. Can you pour me a shot—any shot?" the man said as though they were acquaintances.
'Who is this? I don't recognize his face, but his voice feels oddly familiar,' he thought as it dawned on him. "Scott, is that you?!"
"Yes," Scotts replied with a grin, though his eyes betrayed his face.
"What happened, Scott? How did you end up in this dump? I thought you hit gold out there," he said, concern etched on his face.
"I felt the same way at first," Scott replied, his voice trembling as a tear glistened in his eye.
He abruptly placed a glass before Scott, saying, "It's chilly out there—here's a drink. Now, what happened to you?" as he braced himself to listen closely to the troubled man.
Noticing the moment, Scott broke into a heartfelt smile and replied, "It all began on that fateful day."
"While making my way home, I stumbled upon her in the alleyway in front of my house."
"Wait, is it that woman I'm thinking of?"
"Yes," he nodded, his expression turning serious. "She lay there, bleeding and unconscious, and my instinct was to rush her to the hospital. Yet, she resisted any attempt to move. She bore an uncanny resemblance to my sister, someone I felt I could easily lift, which made it all the more puzzling that I couldn't. In a moment of reckless judgment, I decided to take her home instead of to the hospital just a mile away. Little did I know that this choice would thrust me into a whirlwind of chaos." He looked down and moments later opened his mouth.
"But oddly enough, it was fun," as he emptied his cup in one gulp.
Seeing this, he gave him another cup. "So, what happened next? "
Their conversation continued from Scott's story and switched to happy tales to the deadpan dark tales often told by the two; they talked like friends who were reunited, wanting to know everything that had happened to each other, but in every conversation there was bound to be an ending.
"Oh wow, look at the time," Scott exclaimed, rising from his chair. "I might miss my flight if I don't hurry. " He adjusted his raincoat, preparing to step out into the pouring rain of the night.
"Oh, really? This is our last meeting, then. I'll miss you, kid."
"Yeah—thanks for everything, Miguel. I hope you have a good life."
He was about to leave when he remembered something. "Oh, by the way, before I leave, here's my contact so that we could chat sometimes, and also tell everyone that I said goodbye." He left a glass card on the table with his name and contacts on it.
"kay, goodbye, kid."
"Goodbye too, boss," Scott said and left the bar, leaving him alone with his mind digesting what Scott experienced, and minutes later, "What a sad fellow. I really hope you find the one for you," as he began to continue what he had left at
—
(Scott POV)
Strolling through the vibrant, neon-lit city, he frequently pondered his purpose for being there. Was it the pull of a formidable force or simply a twist of destiny? Did he play the role of the protagonist, or was he merely a background character? Most of the time, he felt like an extra, but everything shifted when he encountered her.
Being with her brought him joy; he cherished that life. Yet, deep down, he understood he was just a supporting character, destined to aid the heroine but never to share her spotlight.
The rain poured relentlessly, drenching the streets as a few hurried souls dashed for cover, seeking refuge from the storm. Yet, he pressed on, indifferent to the downpour. You may wonder why he didn't simply catch a ride. The truth is, he chose not to; he welcomed the rain, for it concealed his grief. It was never an enemy to begin with.
He arrived at the port, queued patiently, and presented his ticket to the attendant, allowing him to board the craft while his luggage was being loaded. Suddenly, he halted and turned, gazing into the distance as if anticipating someone or something.
To onlookers, he appeared like a sore thumb, obstructing their path to the craft, yet no one dared to say anything as they maneuvered around him, leaving him alone in the line before long.
"Who are you waiting for, kid? " A voice called from behind, prompting her to turn slowly and face a man clad in a sleek, futuristic suit.
He looked at the man before replying, "Someone, but it looks like she won't show up."
"Ah, so you're going through that phase."
"What phase?"
"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean, kid. But can you please step inside now? The other passengers are getting restless because of you." Locking eyes with Scott, he recognized the struggle behind them, a struggle he could relate to.
"Kid, I know those eyes of yours, so I can give you about five minutes, but if she doesn't show up by then, it might be time to let go," the man said, preparing to walk away.
Before he could leave, Scott managed to say, "Thank you."
The man paused, turned back, and replied, "No problem, kid; that's just how life goes," and left Scott.
He waited and waited; each second stretched endlessly as he pondered whether she would ever seek him out or even think of him. He understood she was a busy woman, especially after the turmoil that had engulfed the nation.
Memories flooded his mind, those cherished moments they shared, like the time they escaped the authorities and the harrowing experience of hiding in a sewer. He recalled how he had slipped at the worst moment, plunging into the filthy water, much to her amusement.
They had faced life and death together, forging a bond that felt unbreakable, but that connection faded when the man, the main character he thinks, entered the scene.
As the final moments slipped away, he stood at the threshold of the craft, heart racing, when the weight of uncertainty struck him, and (NOTHING) the woman was absent, leaving him with no alternative but to step inside, severing the bond that had once tethered them together.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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