Chapter 7 — Please Take a Number
The service center was overcrowded, but orderly.
Rows of plastic chairs lined the walls. A digital screen flickered above the counters, displaying numbers in steady progression. The air buzzed with low conversation, punctuated by the occasional mechanical chime.
Please take a number.
He pulled a ticket from the dispenser without looking.
The number read: 42.
He sat.
Time passed strangely there. Not fast. Not slow. Just… uneven. Numbers were called, but not in sequence. Some were skipped. Others repeated. No one complained.
He noticed something odd after a while.
Certain chairs remained empty.
Not unoccupied—empty. As if they had never been sat in, even though people stood nearby, shifting their weight uncomfortably.
A number flashed on the screen.
Not his.
The man seated beside him stood abruptly, blinking in confusion.
"That's me," the man said softly, surprised. "I didn't hear it."
He walked toward the counter.
He never came back.
Minutes later, the chair beside him felt colder.
He checked his ticket again.
42.
The screen flickered.
42.
A polite chime sounded.
No voice followed.
People continued waiting.
"Did they call forty-two?" he asked the woman across from him.
She glanced up, puzzled.
"They did earlier," she said. "Didn't you go?"
"I didn't hear anything."
She tilted her head.
"Well," she said after a moment, "you're still here."
The words landed oddly.
He stood, heart pounding, and approached the counter.
No clerk sat there.
The screen updated.
Now Serving: 43
He looked down.
His ticket had changed.
The ink bled slightly, reshaping itself.
43.
The chair he had been sitting in was already empty.
Behind the counter, a small sign flickered to life.
Thank you for waiting.