At the bus stop, anxiety and anticipation mix in equal measure. It’s Tuesday—a day notoriously unlucky for missed buses—and yet, as I watch, the bus lingers as if it too were pondering the mysteries of destiny. I board with a silent nod of thanks, clutching my lucky coin, a cherished relic from a soothsayer ancestor. Every clink of that coin reassures me that the universe, in its infinite wisdom, is watching over me.

At work, my desk is a small sanctuary of order. A basil plant, positioned precisely in the left corner, serves as my talisman against negative energies. My colleagues smile at my eccentricities, unaware of the silent language of symbols and numbers that guides every action of mine. When an innocuous email arrives with a stray comma, I can’t help but sense a subtle shift in the day’s balance—a minor glitch that might ripple into unforeseen misfortune.