English Version: Sands & Sparrow

8

"Miss Sinclair, the launch advertisement is already prepared. All you need to do is sign the papers," the middle-aged assistant informed in a professional yet warm tone. Diana possessed a distinct, likable personality evident in the courteous and kind way she spoke.

Margo focused her eyes on the laptop screen. "That's fine, Diana. Just leave the papers," she responded with a smile.

"I can't help but notice, Miss Sinclair. You have an uncanny resemblance to your late grandmother; her eyes were brown. You may have different eyes, but you look the same," Diana reminisced, her mind drifting back to the days when she started as a working student.

"Well, you're not the only one who told me." Amusement played on the corner of Margo's mouth. She had a history of changing the color of her eyes and disappearing to fake her death. After half a century, she reappeared with a new identity, turning the world into more of a home or a playground. Adopting new characters became Margo's way to spend her eternity.

After Diana left, Margo sipped her warm coffee, the morning sun gently kissing her cheeks. Slivers of light peeped through the glass panels, casting golden stripes across her face. Closing her computer, Margo's lips quirked up at the corners.

She then proceeded to her walk-in closet, selecting a pair of cotton pants and a matching shirt, complemented by white sneakers. "Diana, can you cancel all my appointments?" Margo informed the secretary through the intercom.

"Okay, Miss Sinclair. As of now, you have no appointments for today." Margo sighed in relief at the response. "That's wonderful. I'll go now. See you later, Diana." With that, she turned off the intercom.

Margo packed her things before leaving. She placed a book in a small bag and other personal belongings.

++++

It was a beautiful day in Manila. The week-long rain had washed the sidewalks and gutters clean, and a summery air lingered despite the traffic fumes. The liveliness of the city returned in an instant; clouds cleared, and the streets were already a hum of activity.

In the heart of the vibrant city, Margo faced a decision between the allure of high-end establishments and the charm of quiet retreats. Yet, her preference drew her to the unassuming embrace of a diner. Seated by the large glass panel, she enjoyed the view as a diligent male cleaner meticulously wiped away traces of the outside world.

The diner, a steadfast presence amidst the city's hustle, stood as a microcosm of daily life. Mornings brought forth a lively symphony of students, employees, and diligent workers, all seeking a quick reprieve. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the ambiance transformed into an enclave for the nocturnal denizens – the hookers and pimps navigating the shadowy corners of the city's underbelly.

With the doorbell announcing the arrival of a new customer, attention shifted to a man adorned in an ostentatious display of golden jewelry. He confidently claimed a seat near the worn counter, demanding a beer with a voice that echoed through the cozy diner.

"Hey, Paps! One beer!" The shout cut through the ambient chatter. Paps, the owner, a middle-aged figure in a casual ensemble of a white shirt and rugged pants, swiftly responded. With practiced efficiency, he served the requested beer before returning to the meticulous task of polishing glasses with a crisp, white cloth. Each stroke mirrored the rhythm of the diner's heartbeat, a routine etched into the fabric of its existence.

The man's cellphone abruptly rang, prompting him to answer with an air of irritation. "Hey! Why'd you call?!" His voice, though directed at the caller, echoed loudly within the confines of the diner. "What the hell do you mean? Relax! I'll deliver it, okay?! Screw you!" If the harshness of his tone could manifest physically, it would have reached out to strangle the tranquil ambiance surrounding the other customers. A college student couldn't help but twitch her lips at the grating sound.