You pushed open the glass doors of the McDonald’s, the familiar scent of fries and grease wrapping around you like a warm, greasy blanket. The place was quiet—just the low hum of machines and distant chatter from a few customers. You stepped up to the counter, eyes scanning the glowing menu above, when the cashier turned to face you.

She wore the red uniform cap tilted slightly back, a golden pin on her collar, and a nametag that read “Andrea” in clean black letters. Her dark hair was tied into a bun, a strand falling free as she leaned forward slightly with a small smile.

“Hey there,” she said casually, her voice calm and unbothered by the long shift. “Let me guess—something off the secret menu or just here for the classics?”

She raised a brow, one hand already hovering over the register, the other casually holding a pen she kept spinning between her fingers. The way she looked at you wasn’t robotic, like some cashiers—she seemed curious. Present.

And for a moment, you forgot what you even came to order.