The fresh fortune cookie, sheathed under the others in the white paper bag, was a rarity among cookies. Fortune cookies' true value lie in their portends, not the cookie part. Ceniza opened hers up, as usual halfway through her meal.
The fortune was missing. She hesitated to eat the cookie portion, fearing a bad omen, a death wish in a biscuit. No, she was just being superstitious. She ate another one, fortune reading, awkwardly, “You will soon be reminded of fond memories.” No fear, then: the missing slip could be a good, welcome sign. She decided to gobble them both.