Day 4 Writing Homework
Prompt :
Write a 400 word scene in which three characters experience the same moment in a busy cafe on a rainy afternoon but in different ways. Your paragraph should be structured as following:
1. Backstories: introduce each character with a hint of their past
2. Atmosphere: use sensory details and weather contrast
3. Interactions: show subtle cues between characters
4. Thoughts: reveal inner feelings and reflections
5. Connections: end with a shared moment, different reactions
Slides: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1_m7kxnl7YgJ4fatIgwAqCk6X-Qo9p238?usp=sharing
Please upload your homework as a comment below:
- Due Date : October 4, 2025
- Feedback will be shared in 3-5 days
13 thoughts on “Day 4 Writing Homework”
The man walked into the ambience of a cafeteria. He loved it. He sat on the chair. Mr Johnson was once a famous cop till they fired him because he was steady and strong. He broke through the door and everyone trembled in shock. Everyone felt like they weren’t in a haven. They were unsafe. He pulled a chair and sat on it vigorously. The cafeteria women dropped their coffee mugs in shock and one managed to faint. The man serving coffee in the cafeteria saw him and smiled and placed him a luxurious chocolate caramel donut with a caramel latte before he even placed a order. Mr Alexander was smiling at him. He was once a man who was a great tennis player then they mocked him and he became a cafeteria manger. He placed the coffee right at his desk. An another lady walked in smiling at him. She ordered her usual, a latte. She went to some other ladies and talked about Mr Johnson. The lady frowned at Mr Johnson because he broke her car by driving vigorously. It was the raniest day ever.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y5RWD4-Muni Marudhamuthu
Oh by the way, I will be doing my writing in a sidewalk scene instead of a cafe scene. Is that ok?
The cafe was a bright shelter from the storm outside. Steam clouded the windows, turning the street into a blur of grey. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, mixed with the damp scent of wet coats. People chatted in cheerful voices, chairs scraped across the floor, and the rain outside tapped its steady rhythm on the glass.
By the window sat Mr. Harris, an old sailor who had travelled across the world. Even though he had retired long ago, he still sat upright, as if the chair were part of a ship. Near the counter, Naomi sat with a sketchbook open. She was an artist who found it hard to sell her paintings. Her fingers were dark with pencil marks, and she kept her head low as she drew. At the same time, Ella pushed her way through the door, shaking rain from her jacket and trying not to drop her heavy schoolbag.
As Ella squeezed past Naomi’s chair, her bag brushed the sketchbook. “Sorry,” she whispered quickly. Naomi gave a small, gentle smile and nodded without speaking. Mr. Harris lowered his newspaper for a second, his brow wrinkled at the noise. Then he returned to reading, pretending not to notice. For a short moment, all three were linked together by that tiny bump.
But each had their own thoughts. Ella worried she would never catch up with her studies. Naomi wondered if anyone would ever want to buy her art. Mr. Harris, staring out at the storm, remembered long nights at sea, the waves crashing louder than the cafe’s noise.
Suddenly, a barista tripped. A tray of mugs crashed onto the floor. Ella jumped, letting out a nervous laugh. Naomi gasped, her pencil sliding across the page. Mr. Harris barely moved, only nodding calmly, as if the sound reminded him of something familiar.
For one instant, the three of them shared the same event. Yet each felt it differently, carrying their own storms inside.
POV of sidewalk scene
Three perspectives. One piece.
Haruto:
Haruto streaked through the dense rain, his footsteps slapping against slippery concrete or sinking into patches of soggy earth-like stepping into a cold, discarded stew. He didn’t slow, didn’t breathe; only ran. Passersby cast anxious glances his way, uncertain whether to be alarmed. Fortunately, there was nothing chasing him. At least not visibly. From Haruto’s perspective, the danger had already arrived.
He used to be the CEO of a globally renowned gaming company. High-profile and high-risk, he was no stranger to assassination attempts or kidnapping threats. But the latest attempt on his life was unlike anything before.
It began with subtle warnings: odd movements, unexplained security breaches, uneasy silences in the office corridors. Sensing a looming threat, Haruto ordered guards to monitor every entrance around the clock. What he didn’t realize was that the danger wasn’t outside trying to get in. It was already inside.
Life at the company continued as usual, until one storm-wracked Christmas Eve.
A knife sliced through the air inside headquarters, barely missing Haruto and shattering a nearby monitor. Gasps erupted. Screams followed. In a flash, several masked men burst from a hidden panel near the fire extinguisher, armed to the teeth.
Chaos tore through the building like wildfire. Employees screamed and scrambled, some trampling over desks, others diving for exits. Haruto vanished into the panicked crowd just as police sirens screamed toward the scene. Squad cars swerved and skidded to a halt outside, narrowly avoiding civilian vehicles.
When the dust settled and the invaders vanished, a grim investigation began. But one question haunted everyone who’d made it out alive:
Where had the CEO gone?
Now, Haruto runs—not from the scene, but from the people who staged it. The ones who know his name. The ones who won’t stop until he’s dead.
Kai:
Kai casually strolled along the drenched pathway, grinning with pleasure as dripping citizens trudged miserably through the thunderous weather. Raindrops bounced off the massive umbrella above him, forming puddles around his feet. But Kai, unlike the others, dodged them with ease, jogging playfully while fellow pedestrians occasionally slipped—sending tsunamis of crystal-clear water cascading from the sidewalks.
It was a miserable day for most. But not for Kai.
As a dedicated secretary to the local Member of Parliament, promotions were rare and slow to come by. Fortunately, today was different. The personal assistant to the MP had resigned—offered a job in court as a judge. The sudden vacancy had to be filled quickly, and that’s how Kai proudly found himself promoted to the coveted title of personal assistant.
But that wasn’t the only stroke of luck waiting for him.
Still reeling from the unexpected promotion, Kai couldn’t shake the feeling that his fortune wasn’t over. On a spontaneous whim, he dashed to the nearest lottery shop and bought a ticket. The salesman handed over the randomly generated slip, and Kai’s eyes scanned the printed numbers:
10, 33, 41, 47, 56.
Moments later, a voice crackled through the speakers in the shop. The Powerball draw was about to begin.
Kai’s heart pounded. He watched, frozen, as the host prepared to read the winning numbers.
The first number: 10.
“Yesss,” Kai whispered under his breath, fists clenched. One step closer.
Next: 33.
Groans echoed around the shop as others began to lose hope. But Kai’s excitement only grew.
Then came the final sequence:
41… 47…
He could barely breathe. It felt like waiting for test results that would decide his future.
“And the final number… 56!”
For a moment, time stopped.
Kai exploded with joy—his body trembling, his mouth agape, his heart soaring. It felt like he had just won the World Cup. No, something bigger.
He had just won $1 billion USD.
(Or 1,512,242,000 AUD to be exact.)
On his first try.
Not wasting a second, Kai bolted out of the shop and sprinted toward the lottery headquarters, passing by stunned onlookers who could only watch the strange blur of a man racing through the rain.
Kwan:
There would never be another day like this for Kwan. Especially the tragedy of a superstructure brought down by several sinister terrorists. On that tempestuous afternoon, passersby were all solitary and avoid contact from another person. This made Kwan suspicious. There must be something terrible occurring this day. And he was right.
As a lone man turned the corner of a building, Kwan saw that in the exact same direction, a massive 35 ton oil truck, parked in a spot in front of the community shopping mall. Several men were leaning against the vehicle and to Kwan’s ultimate shock, one of them was holding not one, but a bunch of 10 strapped together in a tight bundle. The suspicious men looked as if they going to blow the building up. Kwan’s spine felt a shiver go through it. Whatever they were planing, he needed to intercept it, now. He peered around to check if the coast was clear before sprinting down the lane while dialing 000.
Just as he received the call, a deafening explosion could be heard behind Kwan. His mouth opened in disbelief as a colossal crater was reveal through all the smoke and flames. Shrieks fill the air like a disease as firefighters and medical services, including the police department rushed into the scene.
Citizens scampered for their lives as the whole mall bursting into a gigantic fireball. Even with the combination of the rain and water from the hydrants, the disastrous flaming rage continued to expand like a fresh balloon, eating everything in its path. Kwan spluttered in terror before making a split second decision,
Run.
He darted alongside all the fleeing residents, only petrified yelps and the crackling of burning wood. Nothing could wipe this thought out of Kwan’s memory. Never.
Day 4 Writing Homework
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y5RWD4-Austin zhou
The cafe was a bright shelter from the deadly storm outside. Steam flooded the windows, turning the street into a blur of grey. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, mixed with the damp scent of wet coats. People chatted in cheerful voices, chairs scraped across the floor, and the rain outside tapped its steady rhythm on the glass.
By the window sat Mr Harris, an old sailor who had travelled across the world. Even though he had retired long ago, he still sat upright, as if the chair were part of a ship. Near the counter, Naomi sat with a sketchbook open. She was an artist who found it hard to sell her paintings. Her fingers were dark with pencil marks, and she kept her head low as she drew. At the same time, Ella pushed her way through the door, shaking rain from her jacket and trying not to drop her heavy schoolbag.
As Ella squeezed past Naomi’s chair, her bag brushed the sketchbook. “Sorry,” she whispered quickly. Naomi gave a small, gentle smile and nodded without speaking. Mr. Harris lowered his newspaper for a second, his brow wrinkled at the noise. Then he returned to reading, pretending not to notice. For a short moment, all three were linked together by that tiny bump.
But each had their own thoughts. Ella worried she would never catch up with her studies. Naomi wondered if anyone would ever want to buy her art. Mr. Harris, staring out at the storm, remembered long nights at sea, the waves crashing louder than the cafe’s noise.
Suddenly, a barista tripped. A tray of mugs crashed onto the floor. Ella jumped, letting out a nervous laugh. Naomi gasped, her pencil sliding across the page. Mr. Harris barely moved, only nodding calmly, as if the sound reminded him of something familiar.
For one instant, the three of them shared the same event. Yet each felt it differently, carrying their own storms inside.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y5RWD4-Kurtis Lee
Kim quickly walked towards the glowing, pristine building with light spilling out. Bullets of water pelted down onto his head, yet no water ended up on his hair as he was bald. Squinting, he began to run towards the hustled cafe, with people staring outside, relief washed onto their faces. Finally he made it to the entrance. Kim was known as a regular, with enough wrinkles to tell his age. Rebecca, the owner of the cafe, called him the king of longevity, as he was already 78 years old yet could still sprint, run, laugh with no trouble and never had pain. Rebecca, on the other hand, was 23 years old and had experienced 2 broken bones and currently had a sprained wrist from slipping. ‘Your usual, Kim? Almond cappucino one sugar?’ she asked tenderly. To Rebecca, Kim always seemed like a fierce, friendly man who just so happened to be a very frightening police officer before his late wife died when they were 64 when he decided to retire after 47 years of true dedication. Peppa, Rebecca’s younger sister, entered the cafe for her job interview with the manager. As soon as she saw Kim, she ran over to him and gave him a hug.
‘Oh Hi, Kim. I have a job interview today with Tom- a-and I’m really n-n-ervous. Do you have any tips?’ she stuttered, fear looming in her eyes, a whisper of doubt hidden in her mind. Kim nodded. He quickly told her a brave story about a knight guard battle, where the bravest knight would protect the queen and all the weaker would die, or suffer severe wounds. In the end, the knight, Anopletia, the one who most doubted he would win, won his fight because he went out and showed courage. Peppa grinned. She thanked Kim and claimed she felt so much more courage from that story. It was true. She also practised so many possible questions, and stared in the mirror, attempting not to look awkward for hours. She felt ready.
While Kim was out sipping coffee without a care to the world, Peppa was gritting her teeth, resisting the urge to knock on the managers door and sing ‘I’m here!’ At last, the door creaked open just like a dying frog gasping for one last breath. ‘Ahh, you must be Peppa. Well, come in, and take a seat, Peppa. We will get started in a second,’ Tom said. Peppa bit her lip. A read liquid began to seep out, but Peppa licked it away. Tom began, asking questions Peppa hadn’t practised. Maths, not a word asked, barista and balance, nuh ah, but gymnastics and strength? Everything about those was asked. Peppa was stunned. She told him she quit gym 6 years ago, when she was 16, and strength, her best was 56kg.Tom smiled weakly, and told her that it was over, the interview was over. Peppa then left, with a terrible feeling stuck onto her chest.
16 days later, it was time to find out whether Peppa would get the job. Rebecca would tell her. Unfortunately for Kim and Peppa, who were both trying to see past her face to find out whether Peppa got the job, Rebecca had a brilliant poker face. Undefeatable. Then, it was time. ‘Peppa. You MMM got the job. To find out what MMM means, you have to answer the questions. Kim, you can help.’ Now Rebecca was grinning. ‘First question, what is Kim’s regular order. Kim, you may not help.’ Peppa pretended to think before laughing and shouting ‘ALMOND CAPPUCINO, ONE SUGAR, DUH!’ Rebecca raised her eyebrows. ‘First letter, G. Next, what is my favourite cake?’ Rebecca stared. She was never told. ‘OOOOOh, is it chocolate cake with strawberry cream?’ inquired Kim, ‘I always see you eating that.’ Rebecca nodded. ‘O, but by now you know that you…. GOT the job!’ A party broke out between the three of them. All grinned while eating a giant cake with almond cappuccinos, one sugar as a drink.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y5RWD4-Chloe Chan
The bell above the café door jingled as Mara stepped in, her coat soaked from the downpour. Once a concert pianist, she now taught music to children, her fingers stiff with age but her ears still sharp. At the corner table, Theo hunched over his laptop, a failed novelist turned freelance editor, nursing a lukewarm espresso and the ache of unrealized dreams. Near the window, Ava, seventeen and scribbling in a sketchbook, waited for her mother who was always late an artist’s daughter who feared becoming one herself.
Outside, the rain drummed against the windows like a persistent memory. Inside, the café pulsed with warmth: clinking cups, murmured conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine. The scent of cinnamon and roasted beans wrapped around the patrons like a blanket. Light from the hanging bulbs cast golden halos on damp faces, while the storm outside painted the world in grayscale.
Mara settled at the piano tucked in the corner, her fingers brushing the keys. Theo glanced up, recognizing her from a recital decades ago, his eyes lingering a moment too long. Ava looked over too, her pencil pausing mid-stroke, drawn by the quiet authority in Mara’s posture. Theo offered a nod, Mara returned it with a faint smile. Ava’s gaze flicked between them, curious but cautious.
Mara’s thoughts drifted to the stage she once commanded, the silence before applause. She missed it, but not enough to chase it. Theo, watching her, felt the sting of envy and admiration he had words, but they never sang like her music. Ava wondered if she’d ever be brave enough to share her drawings, or if she’d end up like her mother, brilliant but broken by rejection.
Then Mara played a single note soft, deliberate. The café hushed. Theo’s fingers froze above his keyboard. Ava’s pencil dropped. For a breathless moment, all three were suspended in the same sound. Mara felt peace. Theo felt longing. Ava felt possibility. The note faded, but the silence it left behind lingered, binding them in quiet recognition of something beautiful, fleeting, and shared.
The bell above the café door jingled as Mira stepped in, shaking droplets from her umbrella. Once a violinist in Prague, she now taught music to restless teens in Sydney, her fingers aching from years of performance. At the corner table, Tom hunched over his laptop, a former startup founder turned freelance coder after his company collapsed. He wore the same hoodie he’d worn to pitch investors, now faded and fraying. Near the window, June sipped chamomile tea, her sketchpad open but untouched. A retired nurse, she’d spent decades tending to others, now learning to care for herself.
Outside, rain drummed steadily against the windows, blurring the world into watercolor streaks. Inside, the café buzzed with clinking cups, murmured conversations, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The scent of cinnamon and roasted beans hung in the air, warm and grounding. Mira’s coat dripped onto the tiled floor as she passed Tom, who glanced up briefly, his eyes flicking to her violin case. June watched them both, her gaze soft but unreadable.
Mira ordered a chai and settled near the piano in the corner, absently tracing its keys. Tom’s fingers paused mid code, distracted by the melody she hummed. June sketched a curve that resembled Mira’s profile, then stopped, uncertain. Mira noticed Tom’s glance and offered a half smile. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. June’s pencil moved again, capturing the exchange.
Tom thought of the pitch he’d failed, the silence that followed, and how music had once calmed his nerves. Mira remembered her last concert, the applause echoing hollowly after her father’s death. June recalled the hospital’s fluorescent lights, the way music had soothed dying patients. Each carried a weight, invisible yet palpable.
Then, Mira played a single note on the piano clear, resonant, cutting through the café’s noise. Tom looked up, startled. June’s hand froze mid sketch. For a moment, time stilled. Mira felt the note settle in her chest like a heartbeat. Tom felt something loosen, a knot he hadn’t known was there. June felt tears prick her eyes, uninvited but welcome. They didn’t speak, didn’t move toward each other, but in that shared moment, the rain outside softened, and inside, something shifted—quietly, deeply, differently for each of them.
Please see the attached PDF for the feedback.
2-Y5RWD4-Helina