373: The Coin 🪙✨
Daily Image created using ChatGPT (Anime AI Art)
🪙 The Coin
Yuki didn’t believe in luck, but she believed in rituals. Every morning before opening her kiosk, next to the train station, she’d place the coin, a golden laurel-wreathed one with a ridged edge, on the counter beside the register. She had carried it since high school after finding it in the park. It looked rare and old, but she was no numismatist. Besides, she had no intention of looking it up.
The lack of knowledge secured it as her personal lucky treasure. Such was the weight it carried. Then there was its presence, the way it caught the light, especially when the sun hit the glass behind her. It had become part of the rhythm. Coin down, register on, shutters up. It was nothing supernatural like bringing good sales or warding off bad weather. It was just a token of courage.
Customers noticed. Some asked if it was for sale. One kid tried to swap it for a shiny foreign coin. Yuki would smile, shaking her head. She would obsessively touch it to make sure it was there, until one Tuesday, it was not. She checked everywhere, from the drawer to the floor to the folds of her apron. Nothing. Her breath hitched with a hint of panic.
She opened the register, counted the float, and scanned the counter. Still nothing. The day went on. Magazines sold. Scratchcards, tobacco, and snacks. Drinks chilled. Customers came and went. But the counter felt bare. She kept glancing at the spot, expecting the glint. Evening came, and she disheartenedly pulled down the shutter. Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention.
A flash of gold in the gutter. She crouched to investigate. There it was. Her coin. Smudged, a little wet, but unmistakable. She didn’t smile. She picked it up, wiped it on her sleeve, and held it between thumb and forefinger, letting out a sigh of relief. It was back. It hadn’t gone far. Just slipped out of rhythm for a day.
The next morning, she held it in her closed fist for a second longer than necessary. Then she placed it back on the counter without further ceremony. Just the quiet click of metal on laminate.
Back to work.
