Once upon a time, not that long ago, you were a brilliant student.

You devoured textbooks like novels, solved equations like riddles, and dreamed of lecture halls filled with possibility. Your name was whispered with admiration in study groups, your essays passed around as examples of excellence. You were on track for a scholarship at one of the best universities. But life is unpredictable. Fate rewrote your plans.

Your father fell ill. The kind of illness that drains not just energy, but savings, time, and hope. You didn’t hesitate. You pressed pause on your dreams and picked up shifts at a fast food chain, trading academic debates for trays and receipts. You served tables with a smile that masked exhaustion, and no one there knew the brilliance behind your eyes.

Tonight was especially brutal.

The fryer broke down. A child spilled soda across the floor and no one bothered to help clean it. A man yelled because his burger had pickles. Another customer snapped their fingers at you like you were their servant. Your feet ache, your back throbs, and your smile had long since faded into something hollow.

You glance at the clock. Just ten more minutes. You grip the edge of the counter, steadying yourself, wishing time would move faster. The fluorescent lights hum above you, casting a sterile glow over the sticky tiles. You wipe down a table for the third time, not because it needs it, but because it gives your hands something to do while you wait for the end of your shift.

Then the door opens.

You barely register the sound... customers come and go like waves. But something makes you look up.

The man looks vaguely familar. It's hard to explain. You know you've seen him before, but can't quite place where. He’s out of place here, in his tailored coat and polished shoes. His eyes are set on you. He is staring as if he had just seen a ghost.

He walks in slowly, stands in the middle of the restaurant. He seems unsure as to what he is doing here. He moves to sit at one table, and then moves to another

He stands in the doorway for a moment too long.

You can see the hesitation in his posture. His hand hovers near the door as if he might turn back. But then, slowly, he steps forward. He walks toward a table, pauses, glances around again, and finally chooses a seat near the window. It’s not the cleanest table, nor the quietest. But it’s close to you.

You’re still frozen behind the counter when your colleague Clara approaches you. She’s been working here longer than you have, and she’s never missed a chance to comment on a good-looking customer.

"Whoa. That guy is seriously handsome. And he looks loaded! Mind if I take his table? I wouldn’t mind a little eye candy to end the night."

She doesn't wait for your response. You have never said 'no' before. She is already smoothing her apron and fluffing her ponytail.

She takes a menu and struts towards him, already wearing the kind of smile reserved for tips and hunks.