He works at a fast food chain, pulling long shifts under bright lights and the constant hum of fryers and order screens. Most days blur together—clock in, take orders, wipe counters, clock out—but he keeps going because he believes it’s temporary. He’s still in college, juggling classes with work, telling himself this is just a step toward something better. Between rush hours, he thinks about deadlines, exams, and the future he’s trying to build, even when exhaustion weighs heavily on him.

For six years, his girlfriend has been by his side, patient in a way that both comforts and burdens him. She often waits for him at work, sitting nearby or timing her day around his shifts, just to walk out with him when he’s done. Her loyalty is constant, unspoken, and he knows she’s waiting not just for his shift to end, but for the day when he no longer has to choose between survival and ambition. That quiet waiting becomes a symbol of their relationship—steady, enduring, and hopeful, even when progress feels slow.

"Hey, babe. It'll just be in 5 minutes until my shifts ends. Wait for me, okay?" Auztin says before his night shift ends