Look at him. He probably just wants money or food. She spat the words out like they were poison themselves, her gaze flicking to Malik with open disdain.
But the boy didn’t waver. He stepped closer to the table, his fists clenched. I’m not lying, he said firmly, his voice rising.
She doesn’t want you to know, but I saw everything. Bernard’s hand lingered over the bowl, torn between disbelief and the gnawing doubt creeping into his mind. But something in the boy’s tone made him hesitate.
The air around the table seemed to thicken, the once lively cafe now eerily silent. All eyes were locked on the unfolding drama, their meals forgotten. Bernard leaned back slightly in his chair, studying the boy with a scrutinizing gaze.
His face bore the marks of a man used to people playing games with him, trying to take advantage of his wealth. But this was different. The boy didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.
Malik, is it? Bernard asked, his voice steady, though a trace of suspicion lingered. The boy nodded. Yes, I’m telling the truth.
Please, don’t eat it, he said, his voice soft but insistent. Marissa let out a harsh laugh, crossing her arms as she stared Malik down. This is absurd, she snapped, her tone icy.
He’s just some street kid looking for attention. Are you really going to entertain this nonsense, Bernard? But Bernard didn’t answer her. Instead, he picked up the spoon again, this time holding it closer to his face.
His hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the quiet storm brewing within him. Marissa, he said slowly, his eyes meeting hers. You heard him.
What exactly is going on here? Marissa’s mask of poise cracked further, her lips pressing into a thin line. I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. It’s insulting.
She turned to the growing crowd, her voice rising. He’s lying. Look at him.
He probably doesn’t even know who you are. Why would you trust him over me? The weight of her words hung in the air, but they didn’t have the effect she’d hoped for. The crowd was murmuring now, their eyes darting between the three of them.
Whispers floated through the air. Did she really do it? Look at her. She seems nervous.
That boy doesn’t look like he’s making this up. The murmurs only fuelled Marissa’s fury. She slammed her hands on the table, her polished demeanour gone.
Enough of this. Bernard, eat your damn soup and let’s go, she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. But Malik wasn’t backing down.
He took another step forward, his fists clenched tightly. If you won’t believe me, then call someone to test it, he said, his voice rising with urgency. You’re rich.
You’ve got lawyers, doctors, people who can figure it out. But don’t eat it. If you do, you’ll regret it.
Bernard’s jaw tightened as he turned back to the bowl. The spoon was still in his hand, but he didn’t lift it to his lips. His eyes, tired and calculating, shifted to his wife.
Marissa, he said, his voice low. You’ve been acting strange for weeks. Now this.
Her face flushed and she stumbled over her words. I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t seriously think I’d— Poison me! Bernard finished for her, his tone razor sharp.
The crowd gasped audibly, their whispers growing louder. Malik stood firm, his gaze unwavering. He could feel his heart pounding, but he wouldn’t let it show.
He’d done what he could. Now it was up to Bernard to make the next move. Marissa straightened up, her expression hardening into something cold and unfamiliar.
This is ridiculous. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this nonsense, she said, grabbing her handbag. But before she could leave, Bernard’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength for a man his age.