Chapter 9
1177 Words
Isabella quietly walked into the small backroom. The air smelled of dust and detergent. Cleaning buckets leaned against the wall, and a mop rested across a stool. The room wasn’t big, but it had a few shelves stacked with aprons, towels, and neatly folded uniforms. A weak light bulb flickered overhead, humming softly.
She ran her hand across the clothes, found one that looked clean enough, and slipped into it. It was slightly big on her, the sleeves hanging a bit loose, but she didn’t mind. She adjusted her scarf, took a deep breath, and reached for the handle.
Just as she opened the door to step out, someone bumped hard into her.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going, you dirty thing!” a voice snapped.
Isabella blinked, startled. Before her stood a tall, slim young lady dressed in a white blouse and tight jeans, her wrist glittering with a gold watch. She looked rich—too polished for a place like this.
“I’m sorry,” Isabella stammered. “I didn’t see you coming.”
“Didn’t see me coming?” the lady scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Or are you just too dumb to watch where you’re going?”
Isabella froze, her mouth slightly open. Words failed her.
“I said, move!” The lady gave her a shove. Isabella stumbled back, almost falling, but she caught herself against the wall. Laughter echoed from a few workers nearby.
Her cheeks burned. She fixed her scarf and walked quickly toward the counter, pretending not to hear the whispers behind her.
“Hi, you over there!” a plump woman called. Isabella turned toward her voice. The woman was leaning on the counter, her hair tied in a rough bun and a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re the new one, right? Go pick up some drinks from the store and serve the customers. Stop walking around aimlessly. This is a workspace, not your honeymoon!”
Laughter erupted again.
“I—I’m sorry,” Isabella muttered.
“Oh, don’t be sorry, darling,” a man sitting near the window said with a grin. He held a cigarette between his fingers, his teeth stained yellow. “Poor kid. Heard you left your husband. You’re pretty. I can pity you and marry you.”
The others laughed louder.
“Nah, she’s too good for you,” another woman called out from the back. “Didn’t you hear she married a pauper? A poor man!”
The laughter grew, bouncing off the café walls like sharp echoes. Isabella’s eyes stung. She turned her back quickly and blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. She needed this job. She needed to stay strong.
“Hey, don’t mind them,” a soft voice said behind her.
Isabella turned. A young lady stood there—short, fair, and gentle-looking, with calm brown eyes that held kindness. She wore the same uniform but carried herself differently, like she’d learned to survive the noise.
“I’m Susan,” the girl said with a small smile. “Come on, I’ll show you what to do.”
Isabella nodded, grateful beyond words, and followed her.
Susan led her behind the counter and explained everything patiently. “You see those bottles over there? That’s the drink section. Customers usually ask for soft drinks, water, or juice. You just take the order slip, grab what they want, and serve it with a smile—even if they’re rude.”
She reached for a tray and placed a few glasses on it, her hands moving gracefully. “Balance it with your left hand, like this. Don’t rush. Walk slowly. If anyone makes fun of you, just breathe. They’ll get tired eventually.”
Isabella nodded again, watching every move. Her hands trembled as she tried to copy. The first tray wobbled a little.
“Don’t worry,” Susan said, steadying it. “You’ll get better. Everyone’s nervous the first day.”
They worked side by side for the next few hours. The café grew busy as more customers came in. The sound of clinking glasses, soft music, and chatter filled the air. Isabella took orders, smiled when she could, and ignored the cruel jokes whispered behind her. Some customers sneered, others looked at her with curiosity, but a few smiled kindly, and that gave her strength.
At one point, an elderly man called her over. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she replied softly.
“You’ve got polite manners. Don’t lose that,” he said, handing her a small tip.
Her eyes widened. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
A few minutes later, another customer—a young couple—complained loudly when she spilled a few drops of water on their table. The woman hissed, “Can’t you do anything right?”
“I’m sorry,” Isabella said, cleaning quickly. The humiliation burned again, but she kept her head down and finished her task.
Through it all, Susan stayed close, sometimes whispering encouragement. When the laughter behind them grew louder, Susan rolled her eyes and said quietly, “Some people are just miserable. Don’t let them make you one of them.”
Those words stayed with Isabella.
As the hours dragged on, her legs began to ache, and her palms felt sore from holding trays, but there was a quiet pride in her heart. She had made it through her first shift without walking away. That meant something.
When the clock struck five, the café started to empty. Chairs were turned over, tables wiped clean, and the sound of the closing bell echoed softly. Isabella slipped back into the changing room, replaced her uniform, and neatly folded it. She looked at herself in the mirror—her face was tired, her hair messy, but her eyes still carried a little light.
She walked back out and found Susan wiping a table near the door.
“Thank you for today,” Isabella said sincerely.
Susan smiled. “You did well for your first day. Don’t worry, it gets easier. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Isabella said again.
They waved goodbye. The evening air outside was cool. The sky had turned orange and pink, and the smell of roasted corn filled the street. Isabella adjusted her bag and began to walk home. Her body was tired, but her mind was calm. She could do this. She had to.
She had only gone a few meters when a dark car slowed to a stop right in front of her. Its windows were tinted black, and its engine purred softly. Her steps faltered.
The window rolled down halfway.
“Get in, Isabella,” a deep voice said from inside.
Her heart skipped.
She froze where she stood, the evening breeze brushing against her face. The voice was familiar—too familiar.
She swallowed hard, her pulse racing. For a moment, she couldn’t move.
The car door opened slightly, the voice firmer this time.
“I said, get in.”
- Writer
