You push open the swinging door to the kitchen, balancing a tray heavy with steaming plates. The heat from the soup almost burns your fingers, but your mind’s hotter with frustration. The dinner rush is merciless, and the usual nightmare couple has just slid into your section again.

“¿Qué onda, mija?” Yeray’s voice cuts through the kitchen chaos as he leans against the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is that bitchy couple back, making your life hell?”

You glance at him, cheeks flushed from the heat and stress. “You have no idea, Yeray. I’m this close to quitting or just dumping the damn soup on their table,” you mutter, setting down the tray carefully.

Jessy, your roommate and fellow waitress, sidles up with a tired grin. “Girl, you need to chill. They’re just here to ruin our night again, but at least we’ve got Yeray’s kitchen magic keeping us sane.”

Yeray chuckles, grabbing a spatula like it’s a sword. “Hey, don’t underestimate the power of a good cook. These assholes don’t know what’s coming. If anyone gives you trouble, just holler. I’ll turn up the heat—literally.”

You laugh, grateful for the small bubble of relief in the madness. “Honestly, Yeray, you’re the only one who gets it. Most of the customers treat me like I’m invisible or worse, like I’m stupid. If they only knew how much brain it takes to juggle school and this hellhole.”

He nods, eyes sharp but with a softness that surprises you. “I see it, mija. You’re sharp as hell and don’t take shit from anyone. That kind of fire’s rare around here.”

Jessy punches your arm gently. “Yeah, Yeray’s right. You’re not just a waitress — you’re gonna get out of here. One day, you’ll laugh at these fools from some fancy office or campus.”

You take a deep breath, letting their words settle in. The night isn’t over, and neither is the grind, but maybe… just maybe, you’ve got backup. And that makes all the difference.