Unexpected Princess and Senior Boys' Gang

Today, I am the happiest girl on planet Earth, and the reason for my exuberance is that I have accomplished a milestone—I have finally completed high school.

It's an indescribable feeling that washes over me, a mixture of pride, relief, and eagerness for the future. With my heart brimming with joy, I step into the small snack store situated right beneath the very building that houses my now ex-high school.

The familiar bell chimes from above, announcing my presence as the shop owner, greets me warmly from inside.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I savor the cool rush of air from the air conditioner on this hot summer day. This unassuming place holds countless memories for me—of laughter, camaraderie, and the shared joys of adolescence that I'll cherish forever.

As I step inside, my eyes find the shop owner as he busies himself arranging the new batch of snacks on the shelves. I tiptoe near him and playfully hug him from behind, causing him to flinch in surprise, then a chuckle escapes his lips.

"Lila, you are such a naughty little girl-- wait, not a little girl anymore," the shop owner, who happens to be my father teases, and we share a giggle.

A broad smile spreads across my father's face as he looks at me, pride evident in his glistening eyes. "You did it, Lila," he says, his voice tinged with emotion. "Congratulations on your graduation. My little princess is now old enough, stepping into adult life." I can see that although he is emotional, he is also excited about my future. He always complains about how I am growing so fast that one day I might leave him jokingly.

I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly once more. "Thank you, Dad," I chime with happiness. His embrace feels like a secure haven—a place where I know I am unconditionally loved and supported.

As I pull back from our embrace, my father walks to his counter and reaches behind it, presenting me with a magnificent bouquet of lilies—my absolute favorites. "These are for you," he says with a beautiful smile.

"Oh, Dad, you are the best," I exclaim, my heart swelling with love for this incredible man who always pays attention to the smallest details that matter most to me.

He nods, a glimmer of pride in his eyes shines through. "These lilies are a symbol of the beauty and grace you bring into my life," he says tenderly.

Holding the bouquet close to my heart, I feel the delicate petals and inhale their sweet fragrance. I can't help but think of how it would have felt if Mom were here with us as well. She left us when I was a mere neonate, and all my life, Dad has taken on the role of both father and mother, never once making me feel lacking in love.

And I will stay eternally grateful to him.

...

"Are you sure about this, Lila?" Dad asks me one final time as we come to a sudden stop due to a red light. I'm seated right behind him on his scooter, and even without seeing his face, I can sense his anxiety.

"Yes, Dad, I am a hundred percent sure about it," I reassure him, and a sigh escapes from him. I chuckle, shaking my head as the light turns green, and he starts the scooter again.

The cold wind rushes past us, but my blonde bob cut is safely tucked within the helmet. Today is the day for the entrance exam and we are going to my designated campus.

I ponder the reason behind my father's unease about my decision to pursue a career in hotel management. He has always been supportive of my choices and never once hindered me from making decisions for myself. Yet, when I shared my preferred major with him, I noticed the hesitancy in his eyes, and he gently asked me to reconsider.

Though he wasn't overly insistent, his hesitancy lingers. No matter how many times I asked him, he wouldn't reveal the underlying reason for his nervousness. It's as if there's something he's trying to protect me from, but he doesn't want to burden me with his concerns.

As we ride along, I steal a glance at his profile, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows on his face. There's a depth of love and care in his eyes that I've always known, but now mixed with a hint of apprehension. Is it just the usual parental worry about their child stepping into the adult world, or is there something more to it?

As I remain lost in the train of my thoughts, our scooter comes to a sudden and jarring halt, and my body collides with something hard.

The impact jolts through me, sending waves of excruciating pain, and I feel myself being thrown off the scooter. I graze against the rough surface of the road, and my helmet takes the brunt of the impact, but it does little to shield me from the pain.

Amidst the chaos, I sense someone holding my hand very dearly, and in that moment, I know it belongs to my father. His touch is familiar and comforting, a steady presence amidst the confusion.

I try to make my grip tight on that hold, but my muscles give up, and my vision blurs. My body feels weak, and I struggle to stay conscious. The sounds of screeching brakes and concerned voices surround me, but it all feels distant and muffled.

And the darkness suddenly engulfs me.

...

In the midst of the stormy rain, I stand under the shelter of an umbrella, dressed in a somber black attire, as I watch the heartbreaking scene unfold before me. The raindrops match the tears that silently fall down my cheeks, mirroring the grief that weighs heavily in my heart.

People gather around the freshly dug tomb, their faces drawn with sorrow as they pay their respects to my father.

The sight is surreal, and I can't comprehend the reality of it all. How could my father, who was so full of life just a short while ago, now be resting in this cold and lifeless place?

I listen to the words of comfort and condolences from those around me, but they feel distant, unable to pierce through the numbness that engulfs me.

I am an orphan now, left to face the world without the guiding presence of the person who meant the world to me.

The feeling of emptiness is overwhelming, as if a part of me has been taken away forever. I want to scream, cry and shout, but even those emotions seem to have deserted me. It's as if I am trapped in a bubble of disbelief, unable to process the reality of losing my father.

I am reminded of the accident that changed everything through my bandaged head and plastered arm. It feels like a distant memory now, hazy and disconnected. How did I survive when my father didn't? Why was I spared, while he was taken away?

The questions swirl in my mind, but there are no answers. The pain of losing him is almost unbearable.

The rain continues to pour, and even the sky seems to mirror my grief, as if mourning the loss of a wonderful soul that touched so many lives.

My grief-stricken trance is abruptly interrupted by a sudden, menacing presence. A bulky man, accompanied by a few others, storms toward me, but I'm still numb from the loss of my father, and their aggression barely registers.

Before I can react, the man grabs my collars, shaking me violently. His voice is filled with anger and demands answers about the debts my father left behind.

"Your father is dead now, who will pay the debts, tell me!" he shouts, shaking me even harder.

Despite the physical force, my attention remains fixed on the tomb before me. The reality of my father's passing still feels surreal, and part of me hopes that this is just an awful, terrible nightmare, that I will wake up and find him by my side once more.

The man's aggression and demands seem insignificant in comparison to the pain and misery that I am grappling with. My mind struggles to process both the loss of my father and the sudden confrontation.

But suddenly the next moment, that man is being thrown to the ground as a fight ensues between the thug-looking individuals and the men in black suits.

My mind is already overwhelmed with grief, and the sight of this violent altercation only adds to my distress. I watch helplessly as they exchange blows and grapples and the other innocent people are scared for their lives.

But as the confrontation intensifies, my anger starts to rise. My father is gone, and yet these people are fighting as if their lives depend on it. I can't bear to witness any more violence on this day of mourning. A surge of rage overtakes me, and with a voice fueled by grief and frustration, I shout at the top of my lungs.

"STOP, STOP IT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" Surprisingly, my outburst seems to have an immediate effect. The men in suits cease their fighting, but they still maintain a firm grip on the thugs, preventing them from acting berserk.

"How much is it?" As I catch my breath, my attention is drawn to an elderly woman by her question, exuding an air of authority and grace despite the rain and chaos.

She stands tall in her sleek black knee-length dress and petite black cloche hat. Her fierce glare is fixed on the man who had grabbed my collar earlier, and it's clear that her anger matches my own.

As I continue to watch in confusion, the elderly woman remains resolute, pressing the man who had grabbed my collar earlier, "How much is the debt?". The man, still feeling the weight of her intimidating presence, reluctantly discloses the substantial sum.

Without hesitation, the woman's companion, the man who had been holding the umbrella for her, takes out a pen and a checkbook. The woman swiftly writes the exact amount on the check, her hand steady despite the chaos around us.

With the check now in her hand, she extends it toward the man who claimed to be owed the debt.

With sparkling eyes, the man rises from the ground, where he had been pinned by the man in the black suit. Just as he reaches out to grab the check, I swiftly step forward and snatch it away from her grasp.

"Who are you?" I ask the elderly woman, my voice a mix of astonishment and curiosity. Her previously serious demeanor transforms into a warm and embracing smile as she turns her head towards me.

"My dear Lila," she addresses me by name, and I'm taken aback by the fact that she knows who I am, despite us never having met before. "--My name is Genevieve Whitaker, I am your grandmother."

My mouth hangs open in shock as I process her words. Genevieve Whitaker, the woman standing before me, is claiming to be my grandmother.

As I stand there, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation, the man manages to take the check from my hand without my knowledge, seemingly undeterred by the family drama unfolding before him.

This woman who looks like she is the head of a mafia organization is my grandmother? Am I imagining things? Maybe this really is just a terrible dream.