THE BLACK CARD

The Black Card

Celine, pay attention to here," she whispered to me, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the restaurant. I followed her gaze to the server, a poised young woman with long brown hair and a sleek black tablet in her hand. Instead of the traditional pen and paper, she efficiently took the order on the large black tablet, her fingers gliding across the screen with ease.

As we watched, she expertly navigated the menu, ordering dishes :"Pan-Seared Duck Breast with Cherry Compote" and "Wild Mushroom Risotto with Truffle Oil." The diners requested a "Tournedos Rossini" - a decadent filet mignon topped with seared foie gras, truffles, and Madeira wine reduction. The server's eyes lit up as she confirmed the order, her professionalism and attention to detail evident in every gesture.

"Would you like to add any wine pairings to your order?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk. They added , "Château Lafite Rothschild 2015" to complement their meal. With a nod, the server finalized the order and glided away,

After a few minutes, the dish arrived at their table, and I watched in awe as the he savored each bite with delicate precision. My eyes were glued to him, mesmerized by his refined dining etiquette. I wondered what would be his name ? Just then, Rosaille handed me a tablet and whispered, "Go take your first order." I took a deep breath, mustered my confidence, and headed towards a boisterous table of high school students.

The group consisted of two girls and three boys, all laughing and chattering excitedly. Among them, one boy stood out as the quiet, bookish type – a self-proclaimed nerd, perhaps? He sat silently, sipping from a cool glass with a straw, his bag overflowing with dog-eared books and scribbled notes. In contrast, his friends' bags seemed almost empty, devoid of the weight of academic rigor.

The girls, on the other hand, caught my eye with their short, wavy red hair and adorable blue uniforms. Their infectious laughter and carefree chatter transported me back to my own school days, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia.

"Welcome! I'm here to take your order," I said, trying to sound professional. The group quieted down, scanning the menu with varying degrees of interest. One of the girls, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, ordered a "Grilled Chicken Sandwich" with a side of "Sweet Potato Fries." Her friend requested a "Veggie Wrap" with hummus and avocado.

The boys, meanwhile, opted for heartier fare: "Classic Cheeseburgers" and "Chicken Quesadillas" with sides of "Crispy Bacon" and "Mixed Greens Salad." The quiet boy, true to form, ordered a "Vegetarian Lentil Soup" and a glass of "Fresh Lemonade." I tapped their orders into the tablet, making sure to double-check for any special requests or allergies.

"Would you like any drinks to start?" I asked, and the group responded with a chorus of orders: "Iced Tea," "Fresh Fruit Smoothie," and "Coke." As I finalized their order, I couldn't help but smile at their lively banter and camaraderie.

As I finalized their order, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I had faced my social anxiety head-on, and it felt empowering. Just then, one of the girls asked for directions to the washroom, and I happily obliged. "Take a slight right turn, and you'll see a silver board," I said, trying to sound confident.

The group of friends, except for the quiet boy, eagerly headed towards the washroom. But before he followed, he meticulously closed his bag and secured it with a tiny lock. I found it peculiar – who would steal his notes? – and wondered why he felt the need to lock his bag so tightly.

As he ensured his bag was secure, he joined his friends in the washroom. Meanwhile, I noticed a small piece of paper on the floor near where he had been sitting. I picked it up, and to my curiosity, it featured a symbol of the moon with an obscure marking underneath. Before I could ponder its meaning further, I heard the group's laughter and chatter growing louder as they returned from the washroom.

As the quiet boy approached, I handed him the paper and said, "You dropped this." His reaction was instantaneous and intense. He snatched the paper from my hand with a speed that caught me off guard, as if I might uncover some hidden secret or unleash a catastrophe. His eyes flashed with a mixture of gratitude and wariness, leaving me feeling slightly unnerved.

One of his friends, noticing the exchange, chimed in with a warning: "Don't take anything from him; it's like a curse!" The group erupted into laughter, but I forced a smile, unsure how to respond. One of the girls intervened, "No, it's not like that. He just doesn't like it when people touch his stuff." Her tone was gentle, but the quiet boy's reaction still lingered in my mind, leaving me with more questions than answers.

As I placed their dishes and ensured everything was in order on the table, I noticed the rich, fancy guest had almost finished his meal. He stood up, exuding confidence, and headed towards the VIP washroom. I couldn't help but think about the unnecessary segregation – a separate washroom for the wealthy. "We all do the same thing in the bathroom," I thought, slightly irritated by the extravagance.

He walked with an air of ownership, as if he were the hotel's proprietor, charming and attractive like a hero rushing to save his girlfriend. Almost all the female staff had their eyes on him, and I couldn't blame them. His charisma was palpable.

As I stood near the cashier, Zen approached me and whispered, "He's handsome, right?" I agreed, and Zen teased, "Got a crush?" I replied nervously, "No, no, what are you talking about?" Zen chuckled and said, "I mean, all the lady staff here have a soft spot for him." I smiled and denied it again.

Zen leaned in and whispered, "He owns multiple companies. Wow, he's ridiculously rich!" I was intrigued, and my curiosity got the better of me. I wondered what his name was, but hesitated, thinking it would be embarrassing to admit I didn't know who he was.

As the rich guest and his companions finished their meal and departed, the atmosphere in the restaurant seemed to shift. The energy felt emptier, as if a powerful presence had vanished. I felt a pang of disappointment and turned to Zen, asking him to mind his own business. "You're so annoying," I said, trying to brush off the feeling. Zen laughed silently, and I walked away.

I made my way to the table where the high school students were devouring their food like they hadn't eaten in days. The silent nerd ate slowly, observing his food with suspicion, as if expecting an insect to pop out of his soup. I asked if they needed anything else, suggesting dessert. One of the girls ordered a "Chocolate Lava Cake" with vanilla ice cream, while another asked for a "Fresh Fruit Tart." The boy who had ordered the cheeseburger asked for extra mayonnaise, and the quiet nerd simply shook his head, focused on his meal.

As I took note of their requests, I couldn't help but notice the contrast between the refined dining experience of the rich guest and the carefree atmosphere of the high school students. Two different worlds, intersecting in this restaurant.

As I served the desserts and handed out the extra mayonnaise, the high school students' faces lit up with excitement. The foodie boy's eyes sparkled like a child's on Christmas morning, and I couldn't help but smile.

But my attention was soon diverted to the table where the rich guest had sat. I began to clear the plates and glasses, and as I did, I noticed something that left me in awe – the table was spotless, without a single crumb or spill. It was as if he had never been there at all. I felt a sense of admiration for his attention to detail and perfectionism.

As I finished clearing the table, my eyes scanned the area, and that's when I saw it – a black card with a silver lining that seemed to reflect my very gaze. I felt an inexplicable pull towards it, and my heart began to beat faster as I reached out to pick it up.

The moment my fingers made contact with the card, my breath caught in my throat. The symbol on the card was unmistakable – it was the same one I had seen on the nerdy boy's paper. A shiver ran down my spine as I wondered what kind of connection these two individuals had. Were they part of some secret society? Should I hand this card over to my manager, or was it safer to keep it to myself?

Just as I was lost in thought, Rosasile appeared beside me, her eyes narrowing as she asked, "What are you doing?" I hastily dropped the card and stood on it, trying to play it cool. "Nothing, just making sure I didn't miss anything," I stammered.

Rosasile gave me a skeptical look, but thankfully, she didn't press the issue. She turned and walked away, leaving me to breathe a sigh of relief. I quickly picked up the card and hid it in my pocket, my mind racing with questions and theories.

With a sense of trepidation, I made my way to the still room, the card burning a hole in my pocket. What secrets lay hidden behind that symbol, and what did it mean for me?