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The tantalising aroma of chicken rice, fish ball noodles, and western dishes wafted through the air, teasing my senses. My stomach growled in anticipation as I entered the bustling food court near my home after a long day at school. The place was alive with chatter and clinking cutlery, filled with people of all ages seeking a respite from the sweltering afternoon heat. After a tiring walk under the relentless sun, I was famished and eager to quench my thirst with a cold soda.
I wandered from stall to stall, my eyes scanning the vibrant array of culinary delights. After much deliberation, I settled on a plate of fish and chips from a popular western stall. The queue snaked its way across the food court, a testament to the stall's popularity. I sighed, resigning myself to the wait, but to my surprise, it was only ten minutes before I reached the front.
"Fish and chips, please!" I exclaimed, my mouth watering at the thought. The stall owner, a kindly old man with a warm smile, nodded and gestured for me to wait at the side.
With my meal in hand, I scanned the crowded food court for a seat. Spotting an empty chair, I carefully made my way over, balancing my tray to avoid spilling my soda. I settled down next to a group of teenagers, their arms adorned with tattoos, and began to devour my meal with gusto.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. A gang of menacing figures stormed into the food court, their presence as intimidating as their leather jackets and glinting knives. My heart pounded in my chest as fear gripped me. The air was filled with screams and the clatter of overturned chairs as chaos erupted.
"Where's the money? Better hand it over, or you may never get out of here alive!" one of the gang members barked at the teenagers beside me. In an instant, fists flew as the two groups clashed, the sound of violence echoing through the food court.
Panicking, I fumbled for my mobile phone and dialled the police. But one of the gang members spotted me. He advanced, a metal bar raised threateningly. Terror coursed through me, and I braced for the worst.
"Put your hands up!" a commanding voice rang out. Relief washed over me as police officers, clad in their blue uniforms, swarmed the scene. They swiftly subdued the gangsters, handcuffing them with practised efficiency.
One officer approached me, a reassuring smile on his face. "You did a good job calling us," he said, patting my shoulder. I beamed with pride, knowing I had played a part in preventing further violence.
As I walked home, my appetite gone, I reflected on the day's events. I realised that while I couldn't control others' actions, I could always choose to do what was right. Every time I visit the food court now, I'm reminded of the day I witnessed a gang fight and the courage it took to stand up for what was right.
