EIGHT

                                    

                                          
TYLER
As the first rays of morning light bathed the high school grounds, Monday morning came to life with a flurry of activity. Students hustled through the gates, their footsteps painting a symphony of hurried chatter. Backpacks slung over their shoulders, they made their way toward their respective classes, eager to see what the new week had in store for them.
I was sitting at our usual table in the common ground of our school with my friends Clark and Klaus. The sun was shining bright, casting a warm golden hue on the courtyard, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. It was the perfect day to take a break from our usual soccer routine.
"Glad we decided to skip practice today," Clark said, taking a sip of his homemade iced tea. "I could use a change of pace."
Klaus nodded in agreement. "Me too. I love soccer, but sometimes it's good to give our bodies and minds a break."
As I was quietly scrolling on my phone, texting Miles via Instagram, I couldn't stop chuckling because of how strangely the two looked at me. The bemusement on their faces was almost comical as if they had just witnessed something absurd happening right in front of them, but I couldn't figure out what had caught their attention.
"Guys cut it already," I told them, chuckling, but they didn't listen and just continued to look at me with a suspenseful look on their faces.
"What's the matter, guys?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"Why didn't you tell us that you went to the café yesterday?" Clark suddenly asked with concern in the tone of his speech.
"If we hadn't gone there, we wouldn't have known," Klaus said, a little annoyed, so I stopped what I was doing and looked at both of them.
"I didn't think it was a big deal," I replied, trying to understand the sudden concern.
"But it is a big deal," Clark argued. "You know how dangerous that place is especially to you."
That café was once my home, but not after what happened. That place is where my birth mother died, whom I just met after Hanz Waldorf adopted me. 
...
For as long as I could remember, my mother and I lived in a small apartment above that quaint café in the heart of the bustling city. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of lively conversation wafted through the walls, making it feel like a warm embrace every time I stepped foot inside. The café was our sanctuary, our source of comfort, and our livelihood.
My mother, with her gentle smile and loving nature, was the heartbeat of that café. She dedicated her days to crafting delicious pastries and brewing the perfect cup of coffee. People from all walks of life flocked to our little establishment just to experience her culinary creations and soak in her matriarchal warmth.
But one fateful evening, everything changed.
It started like any other day. I was helping my mother in the kitchen, kneading dough for her famous cinnamon rolls when we heard a commotion outside. We rushed to see what was happening and were met with the sight of flames devouring the neighboring building. Panic ensued as people ran in every direction, desperate to escape the fiery chaos.
Without hesitation, my mother's maternal instincts kicked in. She grabbed my hand and guided me back inside the café. "Stay here, sweetie. I'll be right back," she said, her voice filled with determination.
Tears streamed down my face as I watched her disappear into the swirling smoke, hoping and praying for her safe return. The minutes felt like an eternity, and I clung to the hope that she would emerge unscathed. But fate, cruel and merciless, had other plans.