Just as she predicted, everyday comes with its own drama.
The factory was already breathing heat and noise when Pearl walked in. The thick scent of oil, sweat, and metal filled her lungs, sticking to her clothes like second skin. She tied her hair up roughly, already annoyed by the clanking machines, the distant shouting, and the way her name was scribbled twice on the shift list.
Double duty. Again. No one even asked.
She didn't complain. What was the point? You speak up, and they say you're too loud. Stay quiet, and they load you till you break.
She took her position and got to work, her hands moving faster than her mind. She tried to keep her focus — until someone behind her chuckled and said loud enough, "This place used to be more lively when Bryan was around. At least there was entertainment. That guy fought with her like it was a soap opera."
A few snickers followed. The wrench in her hand tightened.
She didn't turn. Didn't shout. Just muttered quietly under her breath
" one more week and this madness will be over".
The rest of the shift dragged like melted plastic. Hot. Slow. Suffocating.
When the final bell rang, Pearl was the first to pull off her gloves and walk out. The sun slapped her skin as she stepped into the open street. The gate was crowded — workers spilling out, vendors yelling, a danfo driver honking like a madman.
Across the road, two factory boys were arguing over someone who owed them money. Their voices rose like sirens. A woman selling bananas tried to calm them, but a wild swing knocked over her cart. Bananas and groundnuts scattered across the dusty road. Just then a flying crate flew in her direction.
Pearl stood still, letting the chaos blur past her. When Someone bumped into her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble.
"Sorry," she muttered instinctively,
She kept walking. Past the madness, through the shortcut by the corner kiosk, down the quieter path that led to *that* spot. The old wooden bench. The place she sat with Frederick the other day, eating popcorn and letting the world slow down for a minute.
It was still there. Still slightly crooked. Still hers.
She sank into the seat with a long sigh and pulled out the puff-puff she bought earlier. It was greasy, half-wrapped in old newspaper, but warm. She took a bite, the sweetness sharp against the bitterness of her day.
Her phone buzzed.
A reel from Frederick. Some meme about overworked interns and sleeping in lecture halls.
She smiled. Just a little.
But she didn't reply.
She scrolled down. Bryan's chat was still there — untouched since the last time they fought. No new messages. No "Are you okay?" No "Congrats" on her admission. Nothing.
Maybe that was just who they were now: two people who used to bicker like fire and oil… now quiet. Like a story someone tore the last page out of.
She wiped her fingers, leaned back, eyes closed.
Then — a loud rev.
A bike sped past the street in front of her, music blasting. The rider glanced sideways, just for a second.
She opened her eyes.
Something in that glance — the posture, the way his hand gripped the throttle — made her freeze.
"Funny how someone can be gone....
and still be loudest thing in your head".