Tracy stepped closer. “Please, my best friend. I was angry. I talk too much. I miss you. You know you are my only true friend. Forgive me.”
Joy looked at her for a long time. Tracy’s eyes were watery and her voice was sweet. She kept begging, saying nice things, reminding Joy of old times, touching Joy’s hand like she truly cared.
Joy’s heart was soft inside, even when she tried to stay firm. After a while, she sighed and said, “Okay, I forgive you. But don’t ever talk to me like that again.”
Tracy’s face brightened. “Thank you. Thank you. Let’s celebrate with this wine, my best friend.”
Joy hesitated immediately. “Tracy, you know I don’t drink alcohol.”
Tracy waved her hand quickly. “Ah, stop it. It’s not alcoholic. It’s just normal wine. Non-alcoholic. Like juice. I brought it because I know you like sweet things.”
Joy still looked unsure.
Tracy laughed. “Joy, do you think I want to harm you? After I came to beg like this? Come on, just a little.”
Joy finally agreed because she wanted peace and because Tracy was her friend again.
They sat in Joy’s room and Tracy poured the drink into two cups. Joy took small sips at first. It tasted sweet and did not burn like alcohol, so she relaxed.
Tracy kept smiling, acting happy, telling jokes, making Joy laugh a little.
Then she poured again. “Drink more. Today is celebration. Don’t be stingy with yourself.”
Joy shook her head.
“Just small more,” Tracy insisted.
Joy drank again.
After some time, Joy’s head started feeling light. Her eyes blinked slowly. Her body felt warm. She laughed at things that were not even funny.
That was when Tracy leaned closer with a serious face.
“Joy,” she said softly, “please tell me the truth. Where do you get money from?”
Joy smiled foolishly and waved her hand. “It’s God.”
Tracy frowned. “Stop that. Which God will be dropping money in your hand like that? Tell me. I’m your best friend.”
Joy’s head swayed. “God,” she repeated, laughing.
Tracy’s eyes became sharp. She poured more into Joy’s cup. “Drink. Maybe you will feel better.”
Joy drank more.
Her tongue became loose. Her eyes heavy. She started talking carelessly.
Tracy moved even closer, her voice like soft rope. “Joy, that day you followed that old woman with firewood… what happened?”
Joy’s face changed as if remembering something. She giggled and whispered, “Old woman… she gave me a pot.”
Tracy’s heart jumped. “A pot? What kind of pot?”
Joy laughed again. “White pot. If you touch it three times, money will come.”
Tracy’s eyes widened with greed, though she pretended surprise. “Where is the pot?”
Joy pointed lazily. “Under my bed.”
Tracy stood up immediately, trying not to move too fast. She bent down, lifted the bed cover, and saw it.
The white native pot.
Her breath caught. She grabbed it quickly, held it tight, and looked at Joy one last time. Joy was already half asleep, not knowing anything.
Tracy turned, rushed out of the room, and disappeared with the pot.
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