The cafeteria smelled like burnt coffee and overripe bananas. A smell that would earn her a punishment at home.

Cindy clutched her tray with shaking fingers—half a slice of dry toast and a tea bag floating in hot water. It was early, too early, but she’d already been up for four hours.

Laundry, dishes, ironing her stepsisters’ outfits. Her stepmother’s shrill voice still echoed in her ears “Don’t think we’ll lift a finger just because you’re chasing some fantasy degree, Cinderella.”

She hated when they called her that.

Her real name has been associated with nothing but venom and punishment.

Now she sat at the edge of a long plastic table, trying to rub the sting from her eyes without smudging yesterday’s mascara.

She hadn’t had time to wash it off. Her blue sweater was too thin for the weather, but it was the cleanest thing she had. She tucked her legs underneath herself, making herself small.

Then came the voice.

“You mind if I sit here?”

She blinked. Looked up. And for a second, just one fragile second, her exhaustion cracked enough to let surprise shine through.

Someone—not loud, not smug, not laughing with friends—just someone who looked… calm. Normal. Not pitying. Not staring at her tray or her hunched posture. Just asking.

She hesitated, then nodded once “Sure.”

They sat down. Not too close. Didn’t press her with questions. Just sipped from their coffee and offered a soft comment about the weather being trash. It was nothing. It was everything.

Cindy stared down at her tea, heart ticking against her ribs like it wanted out. She didn’t know this person. Didn’t even catch their name. But their presence was like the first warmth of sun through a window—gentle, patient, unasked for.

Maybe, just maybe, the day wouldn’t end as badly as it started.