Madam Suria looked like an old Romani gypsy fortune teller pulled straight out of a fairytale. At eighty-two, her face was a map of time—deep wrinkles etched across her weathered skin like rivers of memory, and her long, silver hair was tied in buns, decorated with pink colored fabric made of silk. A prominent mole rested on her left cheek, just beneath eyes that had seen too much
As he sat on a yellow cushion, Jacques leaned toward Charles and whispered, "Don't whack a mole."
Charles realized what he meant and elbowed him for the rudeness. He stole a glance at Madam Suria, worried she might have been offended.
It wasn't that she didn't hear Jacques's joke—she had heard far worse insults thrown at her countless times. Her eyes had long since dried from shedding too many tears in pain. A little teenage joke wouldn't even faze her.
Madam Suria continued observing the four teenagers before her, saying nothing, making no theatrical gestures. A reckless troublemaker who followed his own whims, a determined overachiever with ambitions larger than his frame, a gifted mind who could have anything he desired, and a gentle girl who hadn't yet learned how to stand on her own.
She could read them like a book, just from the way they looked at each other and how they reacted when someone spoke.
There was a clear, passive-aggressive tension between the two dominant boys. In their minds, they had already fought a duel to the death.
The smallest boy was too insecure to voice his thoughts.
The only girl in the group understood exactly what was going on, but she lacked the wisdom to speak it aloud, so she play it safe.
Madam Suria wanted to laugh. Fifteen was far too young for tarot readings, but she didn't need cards to see what was going on—or predict what would happen. Her wisdom alone was enough. But well, clients are clients. She had to be professional.
"So," she finally said, "what is it about? Each of your futures? Or, like most teenagers looking for cheap fun, are you here to expose your friend's deepest secret?" Madam Suria smirked and took another long drag from her rose-weed cigar.
"Exposing secrets would be cool," Jacques grinned.
Madam Suria shot him a judgmental glance, her smirk laced with an air of arrogance. "Oh, you'll be crying if I do."
Mourice burst out laughing, nearly clutching his stomach. It wasn't Madam Suria's words, but Mourice's laughter that made Jacques's smile falter.
"Funny?" Madam Suria turned her gaze to Mourice. "I bet it won't be once yours come out."
Mourice shut his mouth immediately.
"How about a prediction of our future?" Danielle quickly changed the topic. As Madam Suria already knew, she did it because things were never good between Mourice and Jacques, and she often found herself in the middle, trying to save the day.
Madam Suria nodded in agreement. She picked up her tarot deck and began to shuffle it while humming a soft meditation tune. It didn't take long for her to prepare the cards, and once they were ready, she spread them out evenly like a fan across the table.
"Each of you, pick just one card and place it on the table," Madam Suria instructed. The teenagers followed her direction.
Here's your revised version with polished grammar, while preserving all the meaning and nuances:
Jacques pulled the Seven of Coins. It was a simple card—it meant waiting. However, Madam Suria just stared at it, and… she wasn't getting anything.
That was strange.
Madam Suria looked at Jacques now, her expression curious but also confused. All of a sudden, she couldn't tap into her psychic ability. So, before she could say anything, she switched the order, moving from right to left. She began with Mourice, who had pulled Temperance.
Madam Suria smirked. This one was easy—she could see it clearly.
"Son, you will have to choose," she began. "In your future, you'll face an important decision—one that splits between your logic and your heart. Either path leads somewhere great, but you're destined to be a protector. Our safety may lie in your hands."
Mourice raised his eyebrows and glanced at Danielle, visibly amused by the reading.
Madam Suria then turned to Danielle, who had drawn the Ten of Cups. This one was easy too.
"You dream of a simple, humble life—with a husband and children you love and raise."
She narrowed her eyes as if trying to hype Danielle up. "You'll get what you want."
Danielle clapped her hands in a cute, delighted way, then turned to Mourice and smiled warmly at her boyfriend.
Next, Madam Suria looked to Charles, who sat between Jacques and Danielle. He had drawn The Empress. She knew exactly what this card meant, and she gave Charles a pointed look.
"If you're wondering why your life feels like a mess, and how to make things work… you need to tap into your feminine energy. Loosen up."
At the word loosen, Jacques let out an amused chuckle, clearly finding the reading surprisingly accurate.
Finally, Madam Suria returned to Jacques. She tapped the card gently, tried to tap into his energy—but still, she got nothing. The connection was blocked, and the interpretation didn't feel right. It was just a simple card that usually meant "waiting" or "the fruit of your labor," but neither of those meanings fit the energy she felt from Jacques.
With visible difficulty, she picked up the card, her uncertainty showing on her face. She couldn't read it.
She slowly put the card back down and stared directly at Jacques.
"What?" Jacques raised an eyebrow.
Oh, fuck it, Madam Suria thought. I'll just go with the basic interpretation and get these teenagers out of my tent.
"You've been working hard, haven't you?" she asked. The question caught Jacques off guard.
"You've been patient. You've put in the effort. You've bled, you've run, you've fallen, you've cried—and then you got back up again. You've been through a lot. But you know what?"
She paused, then smiled with surprising tenderness.
"You'll get there."
Nobody knew what she meant.
Not even Jacques himself.
"Excuse me?" Jacques pulled his head back and narrowed his eyes.
"Honestly, sometimes I don't know why I say the things I say," Madam Suria replied, exhaling smoke. "I just say what feels right. If it doesn't make sense to you now, maybe one day it will."
She averted her gaze, detaching from the group—a clear sign their session was over.
When they left the tent, the only one who looked genuinely happy was Danielle.
"Means you're going to be the wife of a great protector," Mourice teased, flexing his muscles.
Jacques spat at a nearby tree as he walked behind Charles, who trailed after Mourice without realizing it.
"Isn't it a sign for you?" Charles asked Jacques quietly. "Maybe you need to leave the academy."
"I can't," Jacques replied without hesitation.
"Why? We both know your heart's somewhere else. You're only wasting time here. And besides, I can't keep covering for you all the time," Charles said, his voice low but firm.
After a few more steps, Jacques finally answered. "Because I promised my mother I'd be responsible for my choices. I said I'd graduate as a police officer."
Their conversation was interrupted by Danielle's cheerful voice. She gave a small skip as she waved to them. "Guys! Let's eat together!"
Following Danielle and Mourice, Jacques and Charles sat at the food court as their meals began arriving.
Mourice's food came first—spicy chicken—but without even realizing it, Jacques had ordered the exact same thing.
"You both ordered the same meal? That's so cute!" Danielle laughed.
"I think mine's spicier," Mourice smirked, adding two heaping spoonfuls of chili sauce.
After he was done, Jacques picked up the entire bowl of chili sauce and poured all of it onto his own food.
Mourice called the waiter. "Another bowl of chili sauce—with extra jalapeños."
Jacques raised an eyebrow, then turned to the waiter. "Make mine double that."
"Wait, are you guys trying to blow up your stomachs?!" Danielle looked genuinely worried. "You know how spicy that is, right?"
"Danielle," Charles said tiredly, "let them."
Now all their food was drowning in spice. Jacques and Mourice ate while glaring at each other, chewing without flinching. Instead, they laughed whenever the chili hit them like a punch in the gut.
"Charles, should you do something?" Danielle bit her lower lip. "I—I'm really worried."
"Just let them be," Charles said with a sigh. "You'll die in the middle if you try to intervene."
Meanwhile, Mourice starts to choke but quickly regains his self-control, then adds even more chili into his mouth. Jacques, in response, bites into a whole, fat, red chili—chewing it without blinking, his eyes locked on Mourice.
He looks like an angry dragon, ready to swallow the human hero who dared to challenge him.
Both of their faces turn red, sweat drenching their skin. But neither of them breaks their tough facade.