The most beautiful things in the world can not be seen, heard, or even touched. They must be felt in the heart.

*
My jaw drops.

A Colt 45 revolver and a dozen transparent bags of pale pink pills appear. It takes me more than a second to stop gawking and wonder.

Where from all these?

He wasn't a crackpot or a drug dealer, right? Oh Mia, you dad gangsta? Oh, sis, what if the police jump in? Oh damn, the cops can never find this. He smoked weed a few times with his pals, but this is different. Are they even for him?

The more I look at them, the more surmises crowd my thoughts. I can not let them suffocate me. Resistant, I zip up the suitcase. Fortunately, that quells my inner voices a little. I rub my temples. It's too much thinking for a brain numbed with grief - a grief that is now my only sanctuary away from this... insanity.

Even if it was for dad, what should I do with it? Unsure, I focus on packing his other stuff in duffle bags. Aunt Lisa joins me when I am practically done, only helping to carry the load when I collapse in the backseat of the cab for a quick breather. We end up hurling everything into the guestroom back at home.

"Argh," Aunt Lisa grunts as she drags in what should be the last luggage left in the cab. As it comes to view, I have to use everything in me to not yell at her. "Why are you bringing this suitcase?"

"Your stupid ass left it," she scowls back, dropping it at the front door," tomorrow, we'll make garage sale posters or something. I'm done for today." Ignoring her, I glare at the suitcase as she vanishes into her room.

Now, what?!

I sit on the bed and think. Two minutes later, I rise, drag the suitcase into my room, and lock the door. I have a spot where I can keep it hidden. The problem will be how long I have to conceal it and to what end - to what end will this lead me? Is this going open up secrets my dad may have shielded me from? I still can not imagine him owning either of them. The pills? A revolver? Did he know how to shoot? Had he shot someone before? Did he have bad connections?

Ok, now I'm starting to stray to the island of the judgemental. Dad does not deserve these doubts - especially not from me. I know my dad. He's a good person. Maybe it belongs to someone else. But who? No one has lived in the apartment since dad's arrest, and indeed, Mr. Jones would have noticed if anyone was sneaking in. Also, except for the dust, everywhere was practically the same way we left it in the last two years.

*

Later in the day, after boxing most of dad's stuff that didn't fit the bags, I head to work, pushing back thoughts of the suitcase.

"Hey, you." Josh, my co-worker at Pizza Hut, breezes, ruffling his wolfcut. He is always the first to come to work, so it's only natural I meet him cleaning the place.

"Hi." I unconsciously wave.

"I'm sorry about your loss - hey!!" He cuts himself off to frown at the muddy footprint I made, then back at me.

Remorse snaps me back to Earth. I don't know what I am even thinking about; it's just hazy conspiracies of nothingness. I reach for the mop to fix my mishap, but he shakes his head.

" It's ok." He rewipes the floor, and I mutter an apology before signing next to my name on the attendance slot for today. I'm not necessarily supposed to be here - since Casey told the boss I need a break to deal with a family emergency - but I need a distraction now.

Among a dozen wooden dice tables spread between four colourful bricked walls, one has a newspaper on it. Josh catches me seeing it and chuckles, " I have been trying to read the news these days. For vocab."

"Cool," I mutter, "urm, what's on the news?"

"Nothing. Mostly politics. Oh, and our community was on it, too." He seems so delighted about this that I have to ask. "What's it about?"

"The drowning man."

"The - what?" My feet instantly move towards the paper. It creases in my grip, but I throw caution out of the enormous glass windows, speedily searching for the column. Josh is beside me before I can say Jack.
"So they found him?" I say, glossing through paragraphs upon paragraphs of big words. His jaw sets in a grimace. "Are you talking about the freak at the community pool?"

"Ya, him. It's him, right?"

"Yes," he replies, "he escaped. They're saying the police are looking for him. Fortunately, no one got injured, but the pool has been closed now, and honestly, I feel bad for the kids who witnessed it. They must be traumatised."

"Ya," I muse, trying not to show my dissatisfaction with his response.
I'm traumatised, but not in the way you think.

I don't know; for a second, I thought that mystery could be linked to the suitcase mystery. Like maybe, the man sneaks into empty apartments to hide his drugs and follows their apparent owners - wait, what? I don't even know what I'm thinking. I thank him for his information and head to the changing room with the newspaper. It's not long before I hear a knock, though.

"Ya?!"

"Mia, I want us to have a chat," Josh orders calmly.

"Sorry, I'm changing," I pick my neat uniform from the closet and lay it on the stool beside me, then lift my shirt over my head.

"I promise I will keep my eyes closed!"

Yet he doesn't when I open the door to groan in exasperation while re-lacing my sneakers. " Do you want your paper back?"

"No," he shakes his flaky yellow curls. "Ok, then, wait," I shut the door again.

"So, when you're done, then?" He asks.

"Just wait," I groan. At this point, my exasperation is prominent.

"Mia -"

"Dude!"

" I want to talk about us."

"What about us?"

"Like," he huffs," your dad dying and all."

I halt, unbuttoning my shirt. "That has nothing to do with 'us'," I scoff. That's when he gives the door a forehead knock, radiating his frustration through it. "I know. I mean, he was really nice to me too. And now he's gone. I realise that that -"
What's that sound? Is he choking back tears?

"- I am? Urm. I can't fix what I did. But, like, he wouldn't want us to be like this, you know?"

"Like what?" I inch closer to the door. Initially, I felt that it was my fault, but right now, hearing him speak to me like an actual friend, I'm starting to feel like it has ultimately always been his choice. He wasn't serious then.

"This!" He's definitely making hand gestures. Is he serious now? I can't let this happen twice. He should make himself clear this time.

"So you want to be...friends again?"

"Urr," I hear. Then, there's silence.

This mummy's boy was the only friend I had, the only one. We're so inseparable that people thought we were twins. Our Sunday school teacher once alerted my father about his little girl and the blue-eyed golden boy, as if dad would stop our friendship. Little did anyone know that he fuelled it by buying a pair of Balenciaga-s, Josh's favourite footwear, and asking me to gift it like a delivery guy, smiley face, and all.
I accomplished the task so wonderfully that Josh's mom invited me to dinner. That's when I and Josh officially became best friends.

We always walked together to our school, ate from the same plate, and even slept on the same bed, like kids before becoming body-conscious.

When my dad was imprisoned, however, he avoided me. And the only person to blame for that is him. He didn't stick up for me.

"I. I know I should have said sorry two years ago... I'm an idiot, and I shouldn't put this on my mom... I'm sorry..."

Imagining him saying all this in my mind, all I hear is silence. He's gone. Gone and dead to me. Just like dad.

As if to perpetuate my disappointment, he avoids me for the rest of the shift. I placate myself by working faster than him, lingering beside Casey - who handles the cash register - to attend to any customer that walks in first, taking orders left, right, and centre.

"Please, what would you like, sir?" I politely ask a man seated with a blonde boy, probably his son, jumping up and down beside him.

He answers, "Pepperoni pizza, medium size, and two bottles of diet Coke for me and my son."

I note that down, then return to Casey with the orders.

"Jeez, why is everyone ordering Pepperoni pizza?" She mumbles, sending it to Jeremy in the kitchen behind us.

"Cuz it tastes good."

" What?! " She returns with a grimace. "It tastes like shit. Anchovy pizza is better."

" Na, you need to check your taste buds," I reply, making her turn dramatically. " No, you need to!-" She's about to say more when, suddenly, her gaze darts elsewhere, and she freezes, mouth wide open. Then, before I can ask, she ducks.

"Shit!"

"What is it?"

" I can't let him see me." "Who? Him," I motion to a harmless frizzy-haired redhead in a varsity letterman jacket who just entered. He waves at someone, jogging to the booth at the left corner.

"Shit! -"

"- Casey, he's not even looking in our direction. Chill, " I chortle.

"It's not that one," she shout-whispers with an undertone of irritation, "it's him."

The door swings open, and a wobbly figure steps in with an air of confident disarray. Jet black hair cascade in unruly waves, framing a Pakistan face that is equal parts rugged and childlike. A hint of stubble accentuates his jawline, but his cheeks are puffy and flushed like a toddler boy's. It's, however, his glassy, bloodshot eyes that reveal the actual state of his being.

He surveys his environment, his eyes darting from one object to another, lingering a moment too long on the flickering neon sign advertising mouthwatering pizzas. He inhales the scent of sizzling cheese that constantly wafts through the air as if this is his first time entering a food joint. Then, a slow, dreamy smile spreads across his chapped thin bluish lips. I shake my head.

"He's stoned. He won't even see it's you."

"Whatever!" She finally pokes her head up. "Don't let him see me."
For someone who doesn't want to be seen, she sure is jeopardising herself. Her gaze keeps flickering toward the jet-black-haired guy as he stumbles into the booth where the former guy is and signals to someone. Josh, out of nowhere, rushes to sit with them. When they do buddy hugs, I can't help but scoff. " Wait, those are his friends?"

"I know, right?" She snorts and squats again. My head shakes at her. "Ok, I'm leaving you.-"
"- No, wait," she tugs at my baggy jeans, her freshly painted bubblegum blue nail polish almost staining it. I immediately glare at her, but she ignores this, bobbing her dishwater ponytail and puckering her lips. "If they say something about me, tell me, ok?"

"I have to serve the drinks," I relent.

"Jeremy will handle that," she persists, however, "please. Pretty please, go and check if they're talking about me!"

It's not like I won't end up serving them anyway. I sigh, and she pulls me in for a quick hug, then shoos me out of her refuge. I am not good at eavesdropping, but I do a pretty good job creeping up on Josh, especially making him flinch when I exclaim, coming from behind him.

"Please, what would you like to have?"

"Like a vegetarian pizza, small size and soda." The redhead guy beams in a manner that makes his pointed nose look sharper.

"Ok, and you?" My pen gestures to the stoner as I write on my pad.

"You," he blurts.

"Sorry, what?" I look up in confusion.

"I want you," he replies in an attempted husky voice and winks.

" Well, that's unavailable." I am still confused, but I shake off his comment to be as friendly as possible, "but I can assure you that there's much better available. Like, you can try our barbeque - "

" -Na na na, it's you I want," he slurs, interrupting me. I drop my smile.

I'm not falling for that.

"What's your name?" A smirk fits the corner of his mouth, and he tries grabbing my hand, but I quickly swat him away. "Excuse me? Touch me again, and I'll freeze your balls."

"Yikes. Sorry," he drawls. The redhead cracks up immediately. Josh just compensates me with a "don't mind him" side-look, then goes back to typing away on his phone.

"Ok then, I guess that's all you guys are ordering," I sigh to regain composure. When Josh interjects, "Harry and I will take soda too and pepperoni pizza, medium size," everything in me sinks. What happened to the guy banging on the changing room door for me?

"They're not talking about you," I say, handing Casey the pad.

"You sure?" she mutters, reading the orders. When I nod, she enters the list on the computer, and I get their drinks.

"Here you go," I place the drinks on the table when I feel a hand graze my hip. I don't hesitate to think.

Instantly, I pour the icy soda on him.

_______________________________________

Thanks for reading.