'What is he doing here?! And why does he always catch me at my worst?!'
These two thoughts raced through Iris' mind. But she stayed silent in the stall.
Fortunately, Charles was a gentleman. He only asked that one question and didn't wait for a response. He walked over and started dealing with the mop wedged against the door handle.
As Iris listened to him trying to free her, her anger slowly subsided. In her usually solitary life, someone coming to her rescue was rare. A sense of vulnerability quietly crept in.
After the sound of stainless steel clashing with plywood, the door finally opened.
Charles stood outside, holding a mop. His height made the mop look almost comical, and the handle was slightly bent, probably why it had taken him so long. He even had beads of sweat on his nose
