CHAPTER FOUR
CAROLINE
Present
The sky had been weeping since dawn.
By the time I pushed open the glass door of the flower shop, the rain had soaked me to the bone. My umbrella was useless — wind-tossed, dripping, a halfhearted defense against a relentless storm. Thunder rolled far away, deep and weary, like an old god grumbling in his sleep.
Inside, the air was cold and too quiet. The florist wasn't in yet. Typical.
I sighed, my breath fogging the front glass, and shook the water from my jacket. A strange heaviness pressed against my chest — that familiar whisper of unease I'd learned not to ignore. Something was going to happen today. I didn't know what, but I could feel it in my bones.
Dropping my bag on the desk, I walked straight to the changing room. My blouse clung to my skin, heavy with rain, and I muttered a quiet thank-you to my own foresight — a spare set of clothes always waited here. I peeled off the wet fabric, slipped into something dry, and freed my hair from the plastic cap. Steam from my damp skin curled in the fluorescent light.
Then came the cold room.
The second I opened the heavy door, chilled air rushed over me, sharp as needles. Rows of flowers lined the shelves — roses, lilies, tulips — their colors preserved under the hum of the air conditioner. I checked the thermostat, adjusted a stem or two, and let out a soft sigh of relief. At least something in this place was still alive and obedient.
I'd barely stepped out when the front door slammed open. The florist — Regina — stumbled in, panting, rain dripping from her tangled hair.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," she gasped. "There was terrible traffic—"
I didn't bother replying. My silence did the talking. Every day it was one excuse after another — traffic, headache, her mother's doctor, her brother's bus fare. Always something. Always her.
"We take the same route, Regina," I said finally, my voice even.
She blinked, uncertain whether to answer. I turned away, already reaching for a towel to dry my hands.
When Mrs. Alade, our managing director, returned from abroad, I'd finally tell her everything. The lateness, the carelessness, the lies. Until then, I just had to endure it — professionalism over temper.
"Regina," I said, looking up. "We need to talk."
Her eyes flickered — wary, defensive. "Yes, ma."
"What happened to the cold room yesterday? Mr. Ambrose's flowers were practically dead when he got them."
Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "I— I arranged them the night before. I didn't want to rush in the morning."
I studied her face. "Did you close the cold room door properly?"
"Yes," she said quickly, but her trembling hands betrayed her.
"The guard told me he found it open at dawn," I said quietly. "Do you know what that means? We lost one of our best customers."
"I didn't know, ma," she whispered.
I exhaled slowly. My patience had limits, and we were standing at the edge of it. "I'm tired of cleaning up after you, Regina. If you can't manage basic responsibility, you'll make room for someone who can."
Her eyes widened. "Ma, please—"
"Save it," I cut in. "Write me a full explanation for why you were late today. On my desk by noon."
Her voice trembled. "Are you— are you quarrying me?"
"I said noon."
The words fell like stones. I turned and walked away before she could cry or beg.
Back at my desk, I sank into the chair by the window. The rain had softened into a silver mist, beading against the glass. I opened the day's order list, but my eyes refused to focus. My hands moved automatically — ticking, sorting, calculating — while my mind drifted elsewhere.
A memory rose, uninvited — the echo of laughter, the warmth of a dorm room years ago, the feeling of belonging before everything went wrong.
I blinked hard, clearing my throat, and pushed the thought away. Memories were dangerous things; they had teeth.
I straightened the vase beside me, letting my fingers trace the smooth rim of glass. The flowers inside — white roses — seemed too perfect, too still.
"Let's just get through today," I whispered to myself. "No mistakes. No memories."
But deep down, I knew — the day had only just begun.
---
Past
I inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.
I took some slow steps into the room, and when I noticed she didn't make a move, I looked back at her and smiled.
She was waving me over, indicating I should go in first — like there was some bug or demon I needed to wave off before she could enter.
I looked back into the room, dismissing her fears with a small laugh.
A wardrobe stood at each corner of the room with space on top for extra luggage. A bunk of two sleepers was placed close to the wall. There was another wardrobe and a reading table near the bed. The bed covers were beautiful, and the wallpaper was painted with the ocean — a calm blue horizon stretching into forever. The drapes by the window matched the wallpaper perfectly.
I fell in love with the room immediately.
My joy was short-lived when I remembered I had to share this beautiful space with more than six other girls.
If only I knew where they were from, or what they were like.
My experience living in a dorm during secondary school had already taught me all I needed to know about sharing space with strangers — it could be heaven, or chaos.
I walked deeper into the room, still admiring every detail, then turned to find that Safarat still hadn't moved her perfectly shaped legs. She was frozen by the doorway.
I waved her in, laughing a little.
She finally stepped in, and her jaw dropped.
"This room is so perfect!" she exclaimed.
"It's just perfect for me and you, don't you think?" she said, clapping her hands and jumping.
My smile faded slightly. "It is, but we have to share this room with six or more students if there are squatters, you know."
"That's easy," she said, flipping her hair confidently. "I'll just buy everyone out. People need money, especially students."
Her carefree tone made me laugh. I knew she wouldn't be able to buy anyone out — not unless she planned to sell her own space and move out.
"How much will you buy the space for?" I asked.
"The same amount I paid to the school," she replied quickly.
"Then I'm afraid most of them won't budge," I said softly. "Think about it — where will they stay with the money you're offering? Except here in this hostel?"
She studied her nails for a while, then shrugged. "I'll find a way," she said, her voice filled with a kind of stubborn confidence that both amused and worried me.
She pushed herself off the wall and walked to a corner. I followed her with my eyes, trying to read her thoughts, but her face gave nothing away.
"Don't just stand there," she called over her shoulder. "Come, let's pick our wardrobes and corners."
She walked down the room to the far corner and chose the last wardrobe to my right.
I quickly followed and picked the one to my left.
Pulling out a marker, I wrote Occupied by Me across the wardrobe door and the lower bunk. Then I signed my name underneath, smiling at my small claim to space.
I handed the marker to her, and she did the same.
At least now, I'd secured my sleeping space for the year.
Waking up early had paid off — though I knew I'd still be in that registration line if she hadn't helped me earlier.
"Girl, thanks so much for all this," I said, raising my hands in gratitude. "If not for you, I'd still be on that line."
"The name's Safarat," she said with a playful smile.
I froze, realizing she'd caught me — I'd completely forgotten her name.
Recovering quickly, I said, "Safarat."
Rolling the name on my tongue, I offered her a small grin. "I promise not to forget again."
Her smile widened, and before I could say more, she burst into laughter.
Sensing my embarrassment, she quickly stopped and gave me a reassuring look.
"Don't worry," she said warmly. "My name's not one of the popular ones. People forget all the time."
She winked. "Don't worry, you have four years to practice."
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Would you like me to merge the next part — where the past scene begins to show how Caroline and Safarat's friendship shaped her — into Chapter Five, keeping the tone and transitions this consistent?