Xiān Kè Lái
By: Aviantei
[Shibuya Operation—Story Storm]
1. Lánhuā
I'm at the end of the queue of people in front of me ready to clock out. Others tap their feet impatiently, and most of them have their tie knots pulled far away from their throats. I only let out a long exhale from my nose, and leave it at that. It's the same scene every day, and only more so on Fridays. You'd think the employees would get used to it by now.
But that's not the case. I stare forward and focus on an invisible point in my stomach to block out their chatter.
Within ten minutes of silent meditation, my employee number has triggered its sequence in the system, and I have a fresh time slip in my hand. With exact precision, forty hours, not a minute more or less, are crumpled up in my palm. I don't need some paper to tell me what I already know.
I'm not even out the door when I pass a cluster of familiar faces. One of them stops in midsentence to wave at me. He works in the cubicle three down from mine, and a grin breaks over his face. "Hey, Ren," he says, the use of my first name his attempt to be friendly, "we were just thinking about grabbing dinner together. Wanna come?"
I'm conflicted. On one hand, I want to be blunt—that three months of the same response every week should let him know that I'm not interested in joining his small clique of "fresh" employees. On the other, I know I need to be polite to my coworkers for the sake of "company harmony."
I give him half a smile. A short wave as I walk out the door. The sound of their chatter resuming follows me until the door closes, replaced with the bustle of people as nearly everyone in the city clamors to head anywhere but work. I keep a secure grip on my bag and head down the sidewalk.
The people flow like tiny river. Ripples occur as they enter the street, disperse as they leave. Splashes occur as some of them fail to read the flow, push against it. Someone running in the opposite direction of me makes a small collision with another person. They hardly acknowledge each other and move on. Cigarettes light up in little red shifting constellations. I find it hard to breathe.
Even though the sky above me is still cradling the sun, the sky almost looks gray through the haze of smoke. I pull the collar of my jacket higher in hopes of blocking it out, except my coat smells like smoke from hanging next to my coworkers' belongings.
I wonder if washing it will even be worth it. I want to see the stars.
I'm not even halfway to the train yet. As if it's mocking my tiny wish, the sky clouds up, curtains of gray dumping piles of rain on the street. The effect is immediate, waves rippling through the crowds. In some patches, a few people pull out umbrellas, even though the weather report said nothing about precipitation this morning.
I'm hit with the memory of my grandfather smacking me upside with an umbrella on a perfectly sunny elementary school morning, yelling at me about intuition and fortune telling.
I scowl. The rain doesn't let up. Not wanting to be soaked to the bone, I step into the first door lining the sidewalk I can get to. It's a small establishment, but most of the tables are empty. A waitress passing by says I can seat myself, so I pick the smallest table they have, secluded in a corner.
Within seconds, I have another waitress asking me for my order. I think about it, then order milk tea. My hair and clothes drip water onto the seat, a puddle forming at my feet. By the time the waitress returns with my drink and a towel in hand, the entire building is crowded, a symphony of squeaking sneakers and casual conversation filling the once silent space.
I take a sip of tea. I inhale and exhale as the warmth expands in my stomach. Feeling somewhat at peace, I quickly dry myself off, then rest the towel as a buffer between my shoulders and my drenched jacket hanging from the back of my chair.
Inside my briefcase rests a pile of reports from the higher ups—status reports outlining the research going on and any advancements made. In my cubicle quadrant, they're more of a joke, and the employees laugh about them in the break room, only reading the parts that apply to their specific communications areas.
I don't have any work related to them, but I still read them anyway. I hope that it'll get me somewhere, even though it hasn't done anything for me in the past several months but keep me somewhat connected to the company.
I shift against the chair's upholstery, hoping for the sensation of static electricity.
"Hey, listen, I'm like, really sorry, but do you mind if I sit here? The place is totally packed."
I don't even look up until a few seconds later when I realize that the words were directed towards me. A girl stands there, looking like she's just been drowned, partway leaning over the table. Her sopped hair lets loose its own drizzle, and I have to scramble to save my papers from the puddle that forms. A backpack hangs off of one shoulder—probably a student.
"Everywhere else was taken," she repeats. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"
In fact, I do mind. I don't say anything, though, and judging by how she sits down, it doesn't make it to my face, either. She plucks up the menu card, scattering rainwater onto the table. I give up my review of work materials and stow them away before they suffer the flood.
The waitress descends with two towels—one for the new arrival and one to replace mine. I just barely catch my newcomer's order for some herbal tea before the waitress is off in a flash again. Someone at another table laughs loudly.
For a moment, my uninvited guest and I look at each other. Her hair is dyed an almost luminous green and held up with several hairclips lining her scalp. Definitely a student. She would have a hard time finding a job like that.
It's nothing so sudden. Just she leans back in her seat letting out a small exhale, and our gazes slide apart.
I reposition my new towel, enjoying its lack of squelching noises when I lean back on it. I take a fresh sip of my tea—a bit cool from its idle time, but still warm enough. I have the whole evening ahead of me, followed by the weekend. I'll have plenty of time to catch up with the research reports before Monday.
In any event, it's been too long since I've taken a moment out of my usual routine to breathe.
I only open my eyes again once the girl and the waitress start talking again. A too sweet smell fills our immediate air bubble. The tea in the student's cup is almost a bright pink. I don't even question it since she almost inhales the cup and its contents before standing up.
"Ah~. That hit the spot for sure."
The towel provided by the waitress is still untouched, halfway hanging off the edge of the table. The student ignores it and heads to the counter to pay for her drink, just adding more water to the puddles that the staff has been trying to mop up. It's still raining outside, bringing up the question of why anyone would want to go outside.
Just before she goes, the student picks up an umbrella. She leaves it dormant at her side before heading out the door.
The jingle of the bell at the entrance manages to weave through the sounds of the crowd and make it to my ears.
Hello there and welcome to Shibuya Operation-Story Storm, where I (and several other awesome authors) try to write a story with a chapter a week for thirteen weeks. This is my attempt at such a thing, as well as my attempt to make up for the fact that way back in the day, the plot of Aviantei had Ivy dating Ren, and I feel had for taking that away from him.
(In theory, that also means I have to write a story for Lyserg, too-[Shut up, Paige])
This is also an attempt to emulate the narration style in plasterbrain's TWEWY fanfic, Mathmouth, which I know I didn't manage. Go read the real thing and see how it's supposed to be done.
Haha, each of the chapter titles will be the Chinese translation of a flower that's meaning connects to the story. For this chapter, Lánhuā is Orchid, which I feel like is a good match up for Ren.
Go check out the SOSS forum for more cool stuff and I'll see you next week!
NEXT: Second Encounter
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