Ravan watched as Sorell back up her Peugeot DS3 cross back in front of Opera's Starbucks. The man looked around him; he was not the only one to stop and stare. Sorell stepped out in what seemed a slow motion for Ravan, who stopped on her nine-inch heels and wondered how the woman managed to maneuver and press the pedals with them on.

"Hi."

"Hi, have you been waiting long?"

"No, just got here," Ravan said while he looked at Sorell. She wore a Bob cut lace frontal, which suited the tiny frame of her visage. Ravan saw wigs as an accessory. They were in 2021; the man could not presume the piece was there for another reason than the trend. The makeup was nude and seamless; as for the outfit, Sorell switched from the formal attire she had for her bulletin to a black ribbed turtle neck and rinsed slim cropped jeans.

To finish the look, she carried a small black quilted smartphone-sized Chanel bag shoulder bag.

One could think she was a model. All the effects Sorell dreamt of having on the man granted themselves at that instant.

People stared, but none photographed. Close to Paris's must-see areas such as the opera, Madelaine, and Haussmann's shopping mecca, the Starbucks was tourist-packed, which explained most customer's lack of interest in Sorell.

Sorell went in and directly to an area restricted by tape that she crossed to sit down.

Ravan looked around in panic, waiting for someone to reprimand the woman who made herself at home, "aren't you going to queue and order?"

"I don't need to, but you can go. and queue if you wish."

Ravan frowned, "don't you want someㅡ."

The man's words were interrupted by a waitress who put down a sparkling water bottle and a cookie.

"Thank you," Sorell said.

"You ordered beforehand."

"No, I come here often. The staff just prepares my usual."

Ravan nodded at the statement which attested the privilege of fame, "I see."

He wondered if the staff would bring his usual if he came every day.

"Will that be all Ms. Nkechi?"

"Ravan?"

"Eh, strawberry frappuccino."

Sorell smiled, and the waitress left.

"Why are you smiling?"

Sorrell regained composure, "I'm not."

"You were."

"Listen, I've got thirty minutes, so what do you want to talk about."

There was that urgent tone again she employed as soon as she panicked, Ravan noted.

"Okay, yeah, I'm good too, Sorell. Can you relax a little? I mean, we haven't seen each other forㅡ."

"Ten years."

Time did fly, and here were Ravan and Sorell in their thirties.

The man flexed a brow, "why do I feel an aura of animosity towards me?"

"You know Ravan. I'm swamped. I don't have timeㅡ."

"Okay, so how have you been, Sorell?"

"Good as you can see."

"Yeah, you're a superstar. Who would have thought."

"Well, it seems not you by the sound of it."

"Oh, no, I always knew you had potential, Sorell. You always cared about people, and you had the brains. You've always been a natural spokeswoman. I knew you'd do something big. It's fantastic. Your mom must be so proud."

If Ravan didn't know about all the issues, Sorell dealt with, but he was aware of one thing.

It was not rare to hear her mother yell at Sorell from the street or uncommon to see Sorell with a swollen cheek. Mrs.Nkechi was severe; there was no doubt about it.

"My mom is something I don't know."

Sorell had no news, but she knew the woman would call her soon enough for her allowance as she called it. Ms. Nkechi estimated Sorell owed her for giving birth to her, also Sorell kept her name instead of her father's, and the woman believed she had copyrights over it.

So Sorell regularly wired amounts to her mother without asking what it was for. All she knew was her mother spent a whole lot to redo, if not to say recreate herself.

One did not know what part was genuine if there was any real piece of the woman left who redid lips, nose, cheekbones, and jaw. Ms. Nkechi hated the dark skin African woman who got ditched. Thanks to Sorell's money, she regained lost self-esteem filled by fillers but not an ounce of love for her child.

The waitress arrived with Ravan frappuccino.

"Thank you."

Sorell could see how the staff whispered behind the counter from where she sat.

Ravan's presence could make headlines; the woman never came accompanied.

The man took his frappuccino and slurped. A twitch at the corner of Sorell's lips made the man stop, "what?"

"You still have a sweet tooth and love for strawberries," the woman said with a stare demonstrating repulsion.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Sorell; you don't say things just like that with that type of expression. What's on your mind. "

"Oh, I don't care. You can look like a slob when your forty."

"A slob me," Ravan pointed at himself, "I'm a sports educator, Sorell. Do you know how many miles I kill per day?"

"No, but I don't care, Ravan."

The man did not understand, Sorell accepted his invitation, and he imagined they would have a friendly conversation, but the woman was cold, aloof, and a tad condescending.

"Sorell, I really wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"Because you've always been a dear friend to me. Even if we didn't stick together like glue, I always considered."

Ravan could not in the slightest way distill how Sorell interpreted his words which copied those of almost every person who wanted something from her.

"Where do you want to work?" Sorell said abruptly.

"Pardon?"

"Where do you want to work. I can write you a recommendation."

"Sorell."

Within a minute, Ravan got blasted into oblivion. Sorell's words had a weird impact on the man who suddenly found himself with sweaty palms, "eh, Sorell, is it the reason why you think I invited you?"

"Yes, why else?"

"Why, else, huh?"

The scene was unforeseen yet Ravan's reality. How foolish of him to believe Sorell would see him otherwise. Everyone warned him about Sorell's unsympathetic character, and the man had a hard time accepting it when he knew what kind-hearted human she was.

People change.

"Wow, amazing," Ravan looked about. "Are there hidden cameras somewhere?"

"Have you got a problem with me, Ravan?"

"Yeah, exactly, I have. Sorell, what happened? Why are you acting like this? This persona doesn't correspond to the Sorell I know."

"Ravan," Sorell took her instructor's tone, "if it's that girl you are looking for, look in the high school yearbook on that empty slot where her photo should be. She was a ghost then, that girl was irrelevant, and now she does not exist. So if you're not looking for a job, then I don't need to be here."

Sorell got up.

"Where are you going?"

"I told you, I'm busy. I've got work to do," the woman strode off.

Ravan picked up her water, cookie and followed her, "Sorell, wait, you didn't even eat."

The woman grimaced, "keep it."

Sorell never ate what she ordered. It reassured her to see the food was there, but she no longer had the pleasure or desire to eat.

Ravan watched her open her car's door, slide in the driver's seat, and belt up. She then unwinded her window to say, "please, Ravan, don't try to contact me again."

She put up her window and drove off.

Ravan returned inside to pay his frappuccino only to have the staff dismiss him with, "it's on Ms. Nkechi's tab.

How to feel like a low life?

Ravan felt reduced to the simplest expression.