Today was a bright new day for a young man who stood about five feet eleven inches tall. His dark hair fell in messy waves across his forehead, effortlessly tousled, like he'd just rolled out of bed and hadn't bothered to fix it.
Strands curled slightly at the ends, brushing against his brow every time the air moved. The style framed his sharp features perfectly.
"Here's your coffee. No milk." He said as he set the cup on the table, the tray still tucked under his arm.
The ladies at the table giggled, eyeing him openly slutty stares that lingered too long. One of them slid cash onto the table.
"Here's your tip, handsome."
He smiled, took the money, and walked away, heading straight back into the café building.
"They tipped you again?" A male voice chimed in. "That's the fourth time today, huh?"
The speaker had ginger hair and threw an arm around the young man's shoulder.
"You know you could always get tipped by them too, Elias. No need to be jealous."
Elias followed him into the kitchen as the young man dropped the tray and pulled off his apron.
"Always as blunt as ever, Celia." Elias picked his nose absentmindedly. "Man, sometimes I think the boss only hires beautiful people for this café."
"Pretty face, more money." Celia shot back with a smirk. "That's the logo here. Didn't you see it before applying? You complain a lot."
"Ugh, you're so annoying, Celia." Elias smiled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'd better go meet Ruth to remind her about my advance payment."
"Still worse than usual?" Celia asked. His voice had shifted, no longer teasing, but seriously concerned.
"Yeah." Elias exhaled. "But it's gonna be alright. I just hope she makes it through this surgery. I believe she will."
His voice didn't crack. Not once. But that only made it heavier.
Celia nodded slowly, then reached out and tapped Elias on the shoulder, a small gesture, but meant to comfort.
Just then, a ringtone sliced through the moment.
"Excuse me, I gotta take this." Celia stepped a few feet away, pressing the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Ce, you need to hurry over here." A woman's voice, scared.
Celia froze. Only one person called him that.
But the voice was familiar. Too familiar. He swallowed. "Who's this?"
"Ce, it's me. Aunty Tina."
His eyes widened. Aunty Tina? His neighbor, the one who never called anyone, not even with the phone her son gifted her. And he'd never given her his number.
"Aunty Tina, what's the problem?" His grip tightened on the phone.
"Hurry up, son. Something happened. Your grandma…."
Then the line went dead.
Celia stared at the screen for a second too long, confusion crashing against dread. He shoved the phone into his pocket and broke into a sprint.
He ran a kilometer, maybe more. His lungs burned, his legs were tired. But he didn't, he didn't stop until his arm shot up flagging down a taxi.
The car screeched to a halt. "Norway's street," he panted, climbing in. "Fast please." The driver nodded and hit the gas.
Celia's leg shook mercilessly the entire ride. His mind raced faster than the car. Did something happen to Grandma? She wouldn't call me if something bad wasn't happening… How did she get my number? The questions spilled in his head, each one heavier than the last, drowning him in fear.
The taxi stopped. He threw cash at the driver and didn't wait for the change.
His feet pounded against the familiar compound. His heart slammed against his ribs. But when he reached his apartment door, he stopped cold.
The door was ajar.
Grandma never left doors open.
He rushed through. "Grandma?" His voice echoed, begging for an answer. But no, his voice just echoed back at him.
He checked room by room. Kitchen. Bathroom. Nobody. Nothing. Then he saw something. A small trail of bloodstains leading to the door.
He stopped there entirely.
Celia's stomach dropped. He spun around and burst back out of the apartment, his feet carrying him straight to Aunty Tina's door.
He knocked hard.
'Please be okay. Please, Grandma, be safe. Be inside.'
His inner voice kept ringing as his leg repeatedly tapped against the floor.
Just about seconds later, the door unlocked. He heard the locks clicking, one by one, and then it opened slowly.
Aunty Tina's face appeared. Relief washed over her features when she saw it was him.
"Come inside, Ce." The old lady's wrinkled face gave him a small, sad smile as she left the door open for him.
She settled into her chair and waited for Celia to lock the door behind him.
"You don't have much time." Her voice was heavy. "Your grandma and granddad were dragged away just an hour ago. I had to call my son to give me your number."
Celia stared at her. Still. He didn't sit. Didn't move. His body simply wouldn't let him.
Minutes of silence stretched between them.
Finally, he opened his mouth. "How? Who would come in here and take them away?"
He knew every relative close to his grandparents. There was no one. Except his two cousins. If someone was taking them somewhere, his cousin would've told him. And his little cousin, Lora, was still in the hospital.
This wasn't making sense. And it was eating him alive.
"But I heard them screaming about some money they lent them." She coughed, her voice cracking. "I didn't get the whole thing, I didn't want myself to be caught. They were armed men, Ce. You should call the police. Let them know."
Ce said nothing. His thoughts were still lost, tangled somewhere he couldn't reach.
"I should have called the police, but..." She hesitated. "Calling the police might lead to another thing. You know no one wants to be on Norway Street."
Celia finally moved and sank onto the arm of the sofa, elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands.
"Armed men," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "Money they lent them." The words came out before he could stop them
His grandmother's face flashed in his mind. Her wrinkled hands. Her smile. And it all later dragged away. His stomach turned.
"Ce?" Aunty Tina's voice pulled at him. "Did you hear me? Call the police…."
"No." The word came out sharp.
He lifted his head, and something dark settled in his eyes.
"You said it yourself. No one wants to be in Norway Street. Police ask questions. Police dig. And whoever took them…" He paused, jaw tightening. "They'll know who talked."
With that he stood up abruptly. Not looking back, he walked out of Aunty Tina's apartment and crossed back to his own. The door was still open. He stepped inside.
"Think. Who? Why? Where would they take them?" He asked these questions to himself as he pulled out his phone and dialed his cousin's number. It rang once then twice. Then nothing, just the cold beep of an unavailable line.
Not going through, he let out a sharp breath. He then tried again. Same thing.
Celia lowered himself onto the chair, phone dropping onto his lap. His head fell into his hands. "What now? What the hell do I do now?' he muttered to himself.
Minutes passed, before he lifted his eyes and stopped. A neatly folded paper sat on the table. Right there, in plain sight.
"How on earth didn't I notice that?" He said almost screaming.