Volume 4—Chapter 72: Parfait
Have you ever thought your life was so insignificant that you wished you could start over? That if only you had another shot, you’d do every
Have you ever thought your life was so insignificant that you wished you could start over? That if only you had another shot, you’d do everything differently, better? It's that kind of regret that clings to you like a shadow, the kind that whispers every night before you fall asleep.
But time doesn’t wait. It moves forward, not backwards. That's the rule. That’s reality.
What about a second chance? Don’t we all deserve one? The truth is, we always get it. Not in the flashy, dramatic way you see in movies. Not some time travel miracle or divine reset button. No. We’re given second chances all the time. We just don’t always realise it.
“Onee-chan, hurry up!” Irana’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned to see her power-walking ahead, practically dragging us behind by sheer enthusiasm.
“Calm down,” I said, half-laughing. “The parfait’s not going to grow legs and run off.”
“That parfait,” she spun around dramatically, pointing behind her, “is the Ultra Rainbow Nebula Deluxe Parfait with Meteor Crumble and Starlight Syrup! It's trending all over social media right now!”
Oh, right. That monstrosity.
I sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “I still don’t get why it’s that important…”
“She’s clout-chasing,” Viola said flatly, walking on my other side, hands tucked casually in her hoodie pocket.
“It’s not just about the clout, okay?!” Irana snapped back, cheeks puffed. “It’s about… uh…” She trailed off, clearly searching for a reason that wasn’t “internet points.”
“…Exactly,” Viola said without even looking up. “Clout-chasing.”
I chuckled quietly.
“Well… I don’t really want parfait right now. Can we split up? I just want to browse the novels for a bit,” I said, slowing my pace as the dessert shop came into view.
Irana gasped dramatically, clutching my arm like I just told her I was moving out forever.
“Nooo! You have to be in the photo too! Twin power makes the post blow up way more—”
“Clout,” Viola interjected flatly, not even waiting for her to finish the sentence.
Irana gave her a quick glare, then turned back to me with a pleading expression. “It’s not about clout! It’s about… aesthetics! Symmetry! Sisterhood! We match, it looks cute, the algorithm eats that up!”
“So it is about clout,” Viola said again, unfazed.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “Seriously, I’ll join you later. I just… need a break from sugar and selfies. Give me ten minutes at the bookstore.”
“But we’re supposed to hang out!” Irana pouted, gripping my hand.
“And we are hanging out,” I reassured her. “Just… temporarily in separate aisles.”
Viola stepped forward. “Let her go. She’s probably having one of her ‘main character walking into a bookstore with melancholic piano music playing’ moments again.”
I blinked. “...Excuse me?”
“She does that,” Viola added to Irana. “Stands between bookshelves dramatically and pretends she’s having some deep revelation.”
“I do not!”
Irana stifled a laugh, clearly entertained now. “Fine, fine. But only ten minutes! After that, we’re dragging you back for parfait, moody protagonist or not.”
“Deal.” I turned and headed toward the bookstore entrance, shaking my head and grinning. “Unbelievable.”
—
And so, I managed to break free. Well, only for ten minutes… maybe more, if I was lucky. There’s no way they’d get it in just ten minutes anyway. And I need that time to browse the bookstore thoroughly.
Lately, I’ve been hooked on reading novels. There’s something strangely comforting about slipping into other people’s lives, especially when your own is too complicated to unravel. It’s entertaining and a kind of escape I couldn’t get anywhere else.
The bell above the bookstore door chimed as I stepped inside and then immediately bump into someone standing right in front of it.
“Oh crap… sorry! That was my fault. Are you okay?” I said instinctively, stumbling back a little.
My eyes met the person I’d just bumped into, a girl. She looked around my age, maybe thirteen or so. Short, blond hair, fair skin, and sharp blue eyes. She had that confident kind of air that made her seem taller than she really was. I blinked, processing.
“Wait, are you a foreigner? Should I speak English? Uh, excuse me… wait, what am I doing, I am speaking English…”
I froze. Crap, what am I even saying? I must sound completely crazy. My brain scrambled for a reset.
“I’m sorry, are you alright?” I added, trying to recover.
The girl just blinked at me calmly, then said, “Mir geht es gut.”
I stared. What language was that?
“Huh? Was that… German? Uh… Merci beaucoup?” I said, trying something else.
The girl’s expression cracked. She clearly tried to hold back her laugh, but a small grin slipped through.
“That’s French,” she said.
“Oh… sorry. Uh, well, at least you speak English…”
“Yeah, no kidding.” She tilted her head slightly, looking at me more closely. “You look… familiar. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied, frowning a little. I tried to dig into my memories. I was sure I hadn’t seen her before.
But the girl didn’t seem convinced.
“Here. My name’s Aria. Does that ring any bells?” I said, holding up my student ID.
She studied my reaction.
“I see…” she said thoughtfully. “Well, it would be rude if I knew your name and didn’t offer mine. I’m Caroline. Nikita Caroline Verlander.”
Now that was a name that didn’t sound local. Yeah, definitely foreign.
“Right. Um… I should get going. Bye.” I said quickly.
There wasn’t really time to stand around making small talk. I only had a narrow window before I had to regroup with Irana and Viola.
And so… I went to browse books. Just a quick look. But sadly, nothing really caught my attention. Either I’d read them before, or they were the kind of overly dramatic stuff I wasn’t in the mood for. I checked my phone.
Ten minutes had already passed.
“Guess that’s enough freedom for now.” I sighed and made my way back to where I left the two.
I hurried over to the café, thinking maybe I could still catch them before they ordered. But as I stepped inside, I immediately spotted them at a table.
Irana was sitting there with a sulky expression, poking at a drink that definitely wasn’t the extravagant parfait she had been obsessing over earlier. It looked more like a red velvet float… with boba?
I walked up and asked, “Where’s the parfait?”
Irana’s face twisted even further, like the question physically hurt.
“Sold out,” Viola replied flatly, already halfway through her drink.
Ah. So that’s what happened.
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