Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Quinlyn let out a soft hum, opened the car door, and took the black umbrella handed to her from behind. She mumbled, “Thank you. Could you wait for me for a while? If it takes too long, I’ll pay you ten times the fare.”
“Sure, I’ll be right here,” Yasin replied.
Quinlyn turned, a silent smile playing on her lips as she took in Yasin’s eager, almost peddler-like demeanor. He quietly watched her disappear into the rain.
“Mr. James, do you actually believe in striking it rich with the lottery?” Timothy muttered from the driver’s seat.
Timothy thought to himself, ‘Mr. James always despised people who went for get-rich-quick schemes, but what Quinlyn was doing wasn’t just that. It was practically a pipe dream.
Yasin leaned against the car door, leaving it ajar as he lit a cigarette. The white smoke curled and danced with the beaded curtain of rain.
He raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Why not believe her? Plenty of people get rich overnight. Maybe it’s her turn.”
Timothy couldn’t help but feel that Yasin had come down from his pedestal in just a few days, and it was all because Quinlyn went out in the pouring rain just to cash in a lottery ticket.
Quinlyn wasn’t gone for too long, but it wasn’t exactly quick, either.
“Mr. James…” Timothy couldn’t help but call out again after ten minutes had passed.
“Yeah,” Yasin replied.
Timothy continued, “I suspect Ms. Guzman’s pipe dream didn’t quite pan out. She didn’t win the lottery and is probably too embarrassed to come out now.”
“Shut it,” Yasin said flatly, the ember at his fingertips still glowing.
Timothy shut up. In those ten minutes, he found that Yasin had already lit three cigarettes. It was something completely out of character for Yasin.
He had been with Yasin since childhood, so he knew better than anyone just how disciplined Yasin was. Yasin always kept himself on a tight leash.
‘What the hell is going on? Is Mr. James really this worried just because Quinlyn hasn’t come out of the lottery store yet?’ Timothy thought.
Yasin couldn’t care less about whether the prize would be claimed. Or rather, he was certain that Quinlyn would walk out with the jackpot.
He reached up and ran his hand over his scalp. His fingers brushed against his slightly coarse hair, but beyond that, there was only empty air. ‘If she can see the tag, shouldn’t there be something else different, too?’ he thought.
Yasin slowly closed his eyes as fragments of chaotic memories flashed through his mind. ‘Did I die once?’ he wondered. ‘And it hurt a lot.
After a long moment, Yasin opened his eyes and stared at his hand. There was no blood or exposed bones. He didn’t see a single wound or feel pain anymore.
But the pain from his memories clung to Yasin like a shadow, etched deep in his bones. It was always there, like a constant, dull ache that slowly began to throb.
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his hand out of the car, letting the icy rain lash against his skin. The relentless chill seemed to offer a fleeting relief from the searing agony that gripped him.
“Mr. James…” Seeing this, Timothy couldn’t help but speak up again.
Yasin gave him a look. It was cold, dark, and filled with barely contained anger. That one glance made Timothy stiffen, a chill running down his spine.
“Shut up,” Yasin repeated. The words were the same, but this time his tone was filled with a cold, menacing edge.
He lowered his gaze, his entire body as still as an ice sculpture, yet inside he burned like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Timothy held his tongue. Even with the car door wide open, the suffocating tension inside did nothing to ease the oppressive atmosphere.
In this stifling atmosphere, Timothy didn’t dare utter a word. All he could do was hope that Quinlyn, who probably hadn’t won the lottery, would stop feeling down and hurry back already.
Timothy couldn’t help but entertain the ridiculous thought that Yasin would snap back to his usual self the moment Quinlyn came back.
Yasin’s eyelashes quivered imperceptibly as the minutes dragged on.
*****
Time seemed to stretch. Five or maybe ten minutes later, Yasin’s pain showed no sign of easing.
As time wore on, deep furrows formed between his brows. The dark intensity in his eyes grew stronger. His face subtly paled as his lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line.
Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, and a simmering rage was slowly eroding the last bits of reason he had left.
Yasin thought to himself, ‘So what if I died once? I’m alive and well now. Why the hell does this pain still haunt me?’
His rain-soaked hand curled into a fist without warning. In the next moment, he was poised to slam it against the car, wondering if he’d feel pain both inside and out.
Suddenly, the rain stopped. Quinlyn’s umbrella now shielded her from the downpour. The heavy, muffled drumming of raindrops against the fabric sounded oppressive.
“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” Quinlyn asked. Her voice, untouched by any effort to sound older, held a gentle softness that matched her age, oddly soothing.
She looked down at his rain-soaked hand, which clenched with such force that his nails dug deep into his flesh. Blood mingled with the rain, slowly trickling down the webbing between his thumb and index finger.
Quinlyn frowned as she watched. She thought for a moment, then reached out and pried open his clenched hand. “This isn’t really your style of self-harm,” she said, laughing. “Maybe next time I’ll teach you a better way, okay?”
Timothy sat in the front, barely daring to breathe. He wondered, ‘Can’t you see Mr. James is about to blow a fuse? And you still have the nerve to… His thoughts cut off abruptly.
Quinlyn gently unfolded Yasin’s hand and saw four small, perfectly aligned wounds. She sighed inwardly, thinking, ‘Seriously, what’s with the drama? You’re just a supporting male #N!’
“Stay put. I’ll go get some first aid,” Quinlyn said, already heading out to grab some antiseptic or whatever.
As Quinlyn turned to leave, her hand was suddenly seized. Even after being out in the rain for so long, Yasin’s palm was still surprisingly warmer than her hands.
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Chapter 21
Quinlyn didn’t know what was wrong with Yasin, but she still felt deeply grateful for his help today. She was also intrigued by his upgradeable tag.
Most importantly, when their eyes locked, the turmoil and unspoken emotions in his deep, dark gaze immediately reminded Quinlyn of something the Narrator had once said, “Well, it just means he might have died more miserably than you in his previous life.”
‘I died alone in that hospital bed. I felt my life slip away, gasped for air that would never fill my lungs, and was finally swallowed by despair,’ Quinlyn wondered. ‘But what about him? How did he die?”
Seeing this, Timothy immediately sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, not even waiting for Yasin’s instructions. “I’ll go buy it!” he blurted out and then darted into the rain, not even bothering to grab an umbrella.
‘Alright, fine,’ Quinlyn thought, shifting uncomfortably in her high heels. She really didn’t feel like running around
anymore.
“Scoot over. I’m coming in,” she said.
Yasin gave a slight nod, opened the car door for her, and then slid over to the left side.
Quinlyn folded up her umbrella, bent down, and slid into the right seat. Leaning back, she let out a breath. As if something had just occurred to her, she said, “Take out your phone.”
Yasin had finally shaken off the obsessive, almost frantic state he’d been in earlier. Now, all he felt was the sharp sting of the four small cuts on his palm.
The deep, lingering ache that had haunted him was gone, as if it had never existed, leaving only the fresh sting of his wounds. The sudden relief that followed the pain was like a tight bowstring finally snapping free.
Quinlyn watched as Yasin’s tense shoulders gradually relaxed. Using his uninjured hand, he pulled out his phone. “Open your WhatsApp,” she said.
With the obsessive mood gone, Yasin slouched lazily in his seat and teased, “Trying to get my number?”
