Good Ending

We hurried back to our flat, anxiety palpable in the air. "He must have left by now," I said, trying to quell the sense of urgency clawing at the back of my mind. Dordan, his brow furrowed in concern, chimed in, "Should we go and meet him and explain what happened?"

With determination, I replied, "No, but we are going to go in and abduct that guy in the kindest way possible."

Dordan raised an eyebrow, and Pablo looked at me with confusion. "What do you mean?" Pablo asked, glancing nervously between Dordan and me.

"Listen, guys," I said, my plan starting to take shape in my head, "now that his mom knows me, I'm going to ask her if he can come with me for a walk. If she agrees, then we can take him out and try to ask him decently about this whole mess."

Grenade, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed slightly. "I didn’t understand anything you just said, and your idea seems childish, but who cares?"

Before we could discuss further, we were interrupted by a stern-looking security guard as we approached the entrance to the opposite building.

"Where do you think you guys are going?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing at our group.

"Inside," Dordan said simply, trying to push past him.

"You are not allowed in there; you need verification of your rights to enter," the guard continued, arms crossed over his chest.

"Verification?" I echoed incredulously. What was this, some kind of movie?

"Yes, now take out your passports," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Passports for verification? What in the bloody—" Pablo started but trailed off as he caught the guard’s glare, which could have frozen fire.

We exchanged awkward glances with one another before retreating to our building, hastily searching for our passports among the chaos of our messy flat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we dug them out and dashed back to the guard, slightly out of breath.

He took a long look at the passports as though they held the secrets of the universe. "Your passport photos don’t match your faces."

Of course! How could anyone look human in those coin-sized prison photos? I bit back a sigh of frustration. "O-okay?" I tried to maintain my patience.

"You guys are not allowed to go in. Get away," the guard said, shooing us as if we were bothersome flies.

Defeated, we stood on the side of the road, glaring at him from a distance. The tension hung thick in the air like the humidity of a summer day, while the guard remained steadfast, refusing to budge.

Desperate for a plan B, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number belonging to the guy I had seen on the balcony. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hello? Who's this?" he asked, his voice sounding curious yet cautious.

I altered my voice just slightly to keep things under wraps. "I am your mother’s friend, son. Could you pass the phone to her?"

"Yeah sure! Mom!" His voice rang out, calling for her with a certain enthusiasm.

Moments later, his mother answered. "Yes? Who’s this?"

"Erm... ma'am? I'm the girl who visited your flat this morning," I said, my heart racing as I anticipated her response.

"Oh, my lovely dear! Where are you? Can you come over?" Her excitement practically burst through the phone.

"Not right now, ma'am. But can your son come with me? I’d like him to walk with me to where I work; I could use a companion... if you don’t mind?" I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

"Sure darling! Just wait down! He’ll be there in a heartbeat!" she exclaimed before hanging up.

I barely had time to collect my thoughts when I spotted him rushing towards the entrance, his footsteps echoing down the path. He saw me and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Hey! Hey! Listen first! The incident that happened this morning wasn’t what you thought!" I blurted out in a rush, desperate to clear up any confusion.

He looked between us, confusion and disbelief etched on his face. "Well, whatever. Now, where is Mrs. Señorpizza’s corpse?" Dordan asked, seemingly unphased.

"Corpse? Whose?" he replied, his brow furrowing deeper with each second.

"I meant you were the guy who saw us from the balcony, right? You were drying your clothes!" I prompted, hoping to jog his memory.

"Yes, I did see you guys," he nodded, "but I didn’t know anything about any corpse."

"Oh, come on! You’ve got to remember us!" Dordan insisted.

"Yes! Don’t you guys remember me? Last year, there was a grand wedding on the outskirts of this city, and many people were there since it was a gay wedding. You were there too... doing something important. Remember?" The balcony guy urged, his voice desperate for recognition.

A year ago...

Suddenly, memories rushed back to me. We had rented a house on the outskirts then. Dordan had managed to destroy the kitchen entirely, leaving us with no food to eat. That’s when we noticed the wedding festivities next door, the sound of laughter and celebration filtering through the air like an irresistible fragrance. The thought of free food was too tempting; we decided we would sneak in.

We dressed up as best we could, making ourselves presentable enough to blend in. As we entered the wedding area, the excitement surged through us, and we dashed straight for the buffet, eyes widening at the endless choices before us.

Just as I was about to take a bite of fried chicken, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Yes?" I turned around, a bit annoyed at the interruption.

It was him—the guy from the balcony—the one who had interrupted our perfectly laid plan.

"You guys seem new. Which side's relation are you?" he asked, eyeing us with a hint of skepticism.

Glancing at each other, we searched for a believable cover story. His features suggested a family connection, maybe even a brother. I decided to take a risk. "The bride’s side!" I said confidently, cracking a smile that was probably too wide for how nervous I felt.

"Uhm? Bride's side? You guys must have been in the wrong wedding," he replied, still unconvinced.

"What do you mean?" Dordan asked between chews, his mouth full of food.

"This is a gay wedding!" he exclaimed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Caught off guard, we exchanged panicked glances, then gradually set our plates down on the nearest table, too embarrassed to stay.

Within seconds, chaos erupted as we sprinted away in four different directions, desperate to escape our blunder and the growing suspicion in the air. The memory felt like a lifetime ago; yet standing here now with this same balcony guy, it all came rushing back with a vivid clarity that made my heart race.

And now, here we were again—questions buzzing in the air like pesky flies, and a sense of urgency like never before brewing as we stood at the crossroads of misunderstanding, memories, and perhaps a shared mystery that would unravel if only we could figure out where to look.

"Oh! You are that wedding dude!" I exclaim, recognizing him with a sense of excitement. It had been a whirlwind of events leading to this moment, and now that I finally see him, my mind races with thoughts of all that has yet to happen.

"Finally! Now how are we gonna get married?" he inquires, his tone a mix of enthusiasm and curiosity. The air is charged with possibilities, each one more intriguing than the last.

"Huh? Well... I got some serious work to do! Come on boys! And... byee!" I respond, waving my hand dismissively as I usher my friends forward, eager to rush inside our building and escape the impending chaos of the outside world. We make our way into our quirky, doorless flat, a place that has seen its share of extraordinary stories.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifts from lighthearted excitement to irritation. "Where the hell do you guys think Señorpizza is?" I scoff, frustration creeping into my voice. The mystery of her absence hangs in the air, heavy and unresolved.

"What about we check her house? What if her husband had the corpse?" Grenade suggests, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, as he always seems to come up with the most bizarre ideas.

"Why didn't my stupid mind think of this before!" I lament, smacking my forehead in disbelief at my own oversight.

"That's why it's stupid," he replies with an eye roll, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Sometimes, his bluntness is endearing.

With newfound determination, we exit our flat and approach our neighbor's door, rapping on it with urgency. Mr. Señorcitizen, the husband of Señorpizza, opens the door, his attention riveted to the newspaper in his hands.

"Yes?" he asks, his eyes never leaving the words printed on the page, as if we've interrupted some crucial moment in his reading.

"Uhm... is Mrs. Señorpizza here?" I stammer nervously, hoping for any kind of reassuring news.

"Yeah. She slipped on the floor this morning. So she's resting in her bed. Nothing serious," he replies dismissively, still engrossed in his reading.

"O-okay," I murmur, my heart racing, relieved that she’s not in any dire danger. However, before I can say more, he shuts the door abruptly in our faces, leaving us standing puzzled on the doorstep.

We exchange bewildered glances. "What on earth was that?" Pablo asks, the confusion evident in his voice.

We shrug off the odd encounter, somewhat relieved that Mrs. Señorpizza is alive and well, even if we still have no idea what really transpired. Our thoughts quickly shift to the more immediate problem at hand — our broken door, which had caused all this unnecessary drama.

As we begin the tedious task of mending our door, I can’t help but reflect on how life seemed to keep moving forward even amid the chaos.

Fast forward to the present day: It has been a year since that incident, and in many ways, life feels unchanged, as if time had frozen in place due to that one fateful day.

Fortuitously, Señorpizza has no recollection of how she fell; she believes she simply slipped. It’s a strange comfort, knowing that the mystery remains just that — a mystery we are no longer entangled in.

My morning routine continues as usual, complete with cleaning the shoe racks that always seem to be a mess. However, one thing has shifted in my life. I now have a wonderful boyfriend who has unwittingly become part of this odd family dynamic, joining me in the ritual of drying clothes early each morning.

Yes, that balcony guy has turned out to be quite the catch. He’s sweet, dependable, and refuses to leave me, much to my delight.

As for my friends, life has carried on in its typical chaotic manner. Dordan is still wreaking havoc in the kitchen, and Pablo remains adamantly opposed to pasta, while Grenade has emerged with yet another extravagant invention.

This time, he’s designed a gadget that supposedly grants our door fall-resistant properties—a creative yet overly dramatic solution to our past problems. Right now, he works diligently to install it, glancing over at Mr. Señorcitizen, who is observing from his own flat, ensuring that Grenade isn’t creating more mess.

Just as Grenade completes the installation, he stands up, and in a comical twist of fate, the door swings wildly in the opposite direction, heading right toward Mr. Señorcitizen, who darts out of the way just in time.

"Oh shit! Not again!" I shout, both exasperated and amused at the unfolding scene, which feels like a replay of our past misadventures.

And there it is—life continues to be a series of unexpected events, laughter, and a few necessary repairs, each day adding a new chapter to our ongoing story.

The End.