Chapter I
The street food restaurant was busy and bustling as it always was in the evenings. Savory smells floated in the air making Syra feel a bit hungry.
When was the last time she had eaten that day?
But anyways, she had no time right now. She swerved around a person in front of her and another and kept the plates at the table.
"Your order, sir."
They nodded and she went off again to the kitchens of HGS, this place where she worked part-time in the evenings. Her job however included another thing than just being a waitress.
"Hey, Syra. It's music time, right?"
It was Justin who had spoken, her co-worker. Well, that was too much of a professional term. Friends would do fine.
"Yeah, it is."
She took off her apron and stretched.
"Good. God knows we need it."
Gerda popped in, taking dirty plates to the back, where they were washed. She was a cheery woman and always seemed to spread happiness. They were quite close.
In fact, the whole staff of HGS was a family. Even Syra being the youngest and the latest member only having joined 6 months back had fit in perfectly.
"But Gerda, music is always playing."
Syra smiled and said, tying up her hair.
"Music, sweetheart," Justin spoke before Gerda. "Not your masterpieces."
She could only smile again and brush it off.
"You all praise me too much."
"Well- deserved praise."
She went up to the little makeshift stage and picked up the guitar, seating herself in front of the microphone. A few noticed but not all.
She began strumming mindlessly and then the chords.
"Guys, it's me again."
Her voice resonated through the speakers. By now, they had all noticed and some yelled her name. She grinned as energy coursed through her again. She was not that popular in the whole town but performing every day in a popular place and twice a week at the square sure helps. Besides, some were regular customers.
"Wanna hear some music?"
Some hit their tables and some shouted yes. She smirked. She had a way of turning any place into her own concert.
She delved into the chords and their familiarity. This was what she loved.
"Baby, you might never know me
How I spend every night thinking 'bout you."
The people didn't stop what they were doing, eating or walking or whatever. But they were listening.
The boy she wrote this song about, however, was not listening. He was not even there. But of course, that was the whole point.
That he didn't know.
He wouldn't know.
