The year: 2023

Dragon's Den
Oadley,
Albion

[Marty's POV]

It had been three days since the damn packages entered my life. Since then, I had lost all semblance of what I had now come to address as normal life.

What I loved most about my life was its pace; nothing exciting ever happened, and that's how I wanted it. 

On the first night, I dreamt about waking up in the woods. No. They were nothing like the speckles of trees scattered all over Oadley and much of Wales. No, sir. Not at all. The place I had wandered off to was a legit forest, complete with sounds of wild owls and wolves. But that was not what bothered me. The fact that the two voices I had heard (and ignored) not long ago in the café could be heard in my dream too perplexed me; what's more, I now had faces to go with the two voices! 

In the dream, when I had followed the sound of their voices, it had brought me to a large oak tree. It must have been at least a few hundred years old. They had only grown louder the closer I got. And eventually, two translucent figures appeared in front of me. 

No sooner had I caught a glimpse of them than the woman, who had looked furious not a moment ago, saw me eavesdropping on them.

She stared at me like she had seen a ghost. The unexpected silence had perhaps prompted the man to do the same.

The snarky, high-pitched one belonged to a voluptuous woman with dark thick cascade-like hair lining her angular face. She wore a dress similar in style to Hermione Granger's at the Yule ball in the fourth installment of the Harry Potter books. What struck me most were her pale gray eyes. They seemed like they had seen a lot of misery. All in all, though, she looked like a high-end fashion model. 

The deeper of the two voices belonged to a young man, who, I am afraid to admit, looked a lot like me. The only noticeable difference was that I had acquired a tire or two around my middle-nothing a few months of diet control couldn't cure- due to my unhealthy cereal consumption, while the man looked like a meal or two would do him a world of good. Something about his dark, melancholy eyes told me that he had experienced a terrible loss.

Thankfully, just before I could do anything stupid- like trying to communicate with them- I had woken up from the dream. 

The whole of the next day, just like the day before, the café was flooded with customers. Henkley was pleasantly surprised, while I felt tormented. Why? Because more customers meant more chores for me, and we were not equipped to handle the crowd. 

Henkley's job was easy; he just had to sit at the cash register all day, but what about me, huh!? I had to take care of literally everything else. 

"Finally, Kubeer, God of wealth, has decided to bless us!" Henkley's brown eyes had sparkled as he counted the 'day's loot' and showed off the bundle to me. I had never seen him grin like that in the (almost) two decades we had known each other. 

"It's not Kubeer. It's Kubera." I corrected, but as always, he ignored me, and I went about my business. The man's drive to learn and grow was less than zero. No wonder his girlfriend's dad didn't like him. 

Henkley had recently started dating an Indian girl whose family owned a library called 'The Library' just down the street. Meenakshi was a sweetheart. Just a week ago, she had shared her dad's secret Boondi Laddu-  an Indian sweet made with chickpea flour- recipe with me, much to her father's disdain. He feared that now that it was in my hands, I would introduce it in my menu and take all the credit for it. After hearing her mention it to Henkley the next day, I paid her dad, Mr. Lokhande, a visit and told him that he could rest assured that even if I did leak the recipe, it would only be to my children and grandchildren if I had any someday.  

The knowledge had brought a smile to his gentle countenance. He promptly forgave Meenakshi and me and gave us his blessings to introduce the special Laddu to the menu if I desired, as long as I gave credit where it was due. I was pleasantly surprised and plenty grateful. I offered him a share of the profits from their sale if and when we started selling them. The balding man approved my suggestion with a slap on my back for having 'humility and integrity.' However, as I was walking out, I caught him throwing a disappointed look at Meenakshi. 

It confused me, but I said nothing. Later that day, when Meenakshi visited Henkley at the café and bumped into me, I asked her if everything was alright between her and her dad. She disclosed then that her dad didn't like Henkley, and after meeting me, it had upset him that she had chosen Henkley over me.

I had assured her that her dad would eventually come around when he realized that Henkley was a good man who cared about her. 

It was a white lie. Meenakshi could do better than Henkley. Much better. 

That night, as I dragged myself through the night routine, I didn't even have the patience to think about the damned furniture talking, which it was doing since I had bagged the cupboard shut on its proverbial face. Continuously. Relentlessly.

Fearing that strange dreams might assault me again and to get rid of the ache in my muscles, I had taken aspirin to bed only to wake up the morning after with sore limbs. 

Praying to heaves to bless me with a normal day, I had proceeded with my usual routine till I found the jumbo pack of fruit loops I had opened barely three days ago missing. 

Despite my aching muscles putting up a fight and slowing me down, I quickly ran around the house, looking for other valuables that might have suffered the same fate.

They hadn't. Everything else was just as I had left them. 

Concluding that it was probably a lapse of memory on my side, I ignored it. Making do with porridge that Mum had brought over a few days ago, I arrived at the café on time. 

It was a Sunday. It was the day of the week when we hardly got any customers. It was also the day I had marked on the calendar as Dwight Day. Alas, instead of sorting out my feelings for the handsome delivery boy and having a chill day, I spent it knee-deep in cooking and serving the over-enthusiastic crowd that blessed the cafe unexpectedly. 

As luck would have it, I forgot all about my not-date with Dwight and only realized what I had done as I was winding up for the night. Panicking, I asked Henkley if anyone had called asking for me, to which the useless waste of space replied, "Maybe, but it didn't seem important."

"Did they leave a message?" I asked, hoping it was Dwight and that he had left a number. 

Henkley shrugged, "I don't remember. It was a busy time." Quirking his brow, he asked, "Why? Was that your future boyfriend?"

I didn't think his question warranted an answer. Ignoring him, I tidied up the place and went home. 

That night as I fell on my bed, my body was not the only part that hurt. I felt miserable. It was as if I had missed something I shouldn't have.