The Description

Bizpark at 11 in the morning is a cacophony of loud chatter, each table, round or rectangular was a cosseted huddle of people talking louder than necessary and some raising their voices to be heard over the piercing noise of students who are eagerly making their way into the “gates of freedom” right after their long, dreadful lessons on a Monday morning. Group after group of students go in and out of Bizpark, leaving their piles of bounded notes and crumpled hoodies on the red and blue, bird-poop stained tables and head over to make what seemed like one of the toughest decision that they have to make, which was what to have for lunch.

Mynah’s swoop in to the eatery from every direction, intent on getting their fair share of lunch from the leftovers on the table and on the tiled floors of Bizpark. These birds were also contributors to the ever-growing level of noise in the eatery, fighting over the smallest peck of what may or may not even be edible.

Amidst all the commotion going on, there was a girl, sitting on the table right infront of the drink stall. She was alone and her shoulders were shaking. She cried slowly, tears dripping down the side of her cheeks and she was hardly making any noise. She had earpieces in her ears and she was sinking, deeper and deeper into the music she was listening to, isolating herself from the rest of the people in this havoc of an eatery.