Sophia
The tray nearly slipped from my hands when I first laid eyes on her.
Sonya.
Her name screamed in my head like a curse I had spent so long trying to erase.
My heart hammered, my breath caught, and for one fragile moment I thought my knees would give way beneath me. But then her lips curved, half mocking, half triumphant, and that expression snapped me back into myself.
No.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
So I did what I had learned to do best: I straightened my spine, tightened my grip on the tray, and forced my face into a mask of indifference.
Without a word, I served her order just as I would any other customer, and turned briskly back to the counter.
The motions of work steadied me.
Writing down orders, carrying plates, clearing tables,
