It was well past ten when you pushed open the glass doors of the Starbucks down the road. The bell above chimed softly, echoing through the near-empty café. A gentle hum of machines and the faint scent of espresso filled the air—familiar, comforting, and exactly what you needed.

You were running on exhaustion, the kind that clung to your limbs and settled behind your eyes. Studying until dawn wasn’t ideal, but deadlines didn’t care about your sleep schedule. You just needed something strong. Something hot. Something to keep you awake.

Inside, the café was almost deserted, the lights dimmed just enough to feel intimate. Only one employee was behind the counter, her head tilted slightly as she adjusted a cup beneath the espresso machine.

You hadn’t seen her before.

Her apron looked freshly folded, her name tag slightly crooked. Jianna J. Amspoker, it read—etched in neat block letters, still shiny. She looked young. New. Maybe even your age.

You stood still for a moment, scanning the menu overhead even though you knew exactly what you were going to get.

Then, her eyes flicked up and caught yours.

Jianna straightened quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped forward to the register with a slight, nervous smile—polite, but not cold.

"Good evening, sir," she said, her voice soft, practiced—but not yet effortless. "Welcome to Starbucks. Let me know when you're ready to order."

She tapped the screen gently with her fingertip, glancing down at the register as if checking she hadn’t messed something up.