My story with her

Who is she

“Brrrrrrnn....!

The alarm rings with its annoying sound. I am neither asleep nor awake… I hear it clearly, yet I don’t hear it. I am nothing but a lifeless corpse stretched out on a bed in a room as dark as the darkness of my thoughts.

I stare at my ceiling, as I do every day—

when I sleep, when I wake—

as if I’m waiting for it to speak to me…

as if it’s not the same ceiling as yesterday.

The alarm still rings, and I still hear it…

and yet, I don’t hear it at all.”

My mother opened the door, like a drunk just back from the pub, moving with heavy slowness and a drowsy, broken voice. ‘ turned that thing off , and get up… there’s work waiting. It’s five, aren’t you going to work today?’

I muttered to her as I stared at that distinctive ceiling:

‘Okay.’

I sat on the right side of the bed, as I always do, turned that thing off, and placed my hands over my eyes in a ridiculous manner…

just like a child playing hide-and-seek.

I sat there, listening to my mother’s steps fading away as she returned to her room, the sound of her footsteps mingled with her vanishing voice as she yawned

I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom in complete silence, barely hearing my footsteps on the floor, as if I were a floating ghost.

Maybe it was because I hadn’t had breakfast yet, or maybe my stomach wasn’t actually empty—I don’t know… I took a hot shower and had my breakfast, getting ready to go to the restaurant where I work in a job that suits my age but not my mental state.

I think you know what I mean… though I hope you don’t. I put on my headphones, took out my bicycle, and lit a cigarette to talk to it along the way. I was listening to a calm, sad song that didn’t really affect me, but I kept listening to it anyway. It was almost half past six, the time my shift as a waiter at Allin Seafood Restaurant began.

I still had ten minutes, more than enough to reach there, so I decided to stop by the side of the road to have another cigarette about the same topic I had discussed with the previous one. Talking to cigarettes is forbidden in the restaurant…

I sat on one of the benches by the road and started a conversation in which I said nothing, named nothing, yet both of us understood perfectly what we meant. During that productive conversation, a girl passed by me wearing a black coat, black pants, carrying a black bag, and wearing black shoes. She seemed a bit strange. As she passed, she looked at me with a gaze I didn’t understand, or maybe had never seen before…

It wasn’t a look of admiration, nor disgust or hostility. It was almost an ordinary glance, yet there was something strange about it. I mean, it’s enough to catch a brief glance at a stranger, but staring while walking by—that’s unusual. Was she a fan, showing signs of liking me? No, she didn’t smile. Was she disgusted? No, she didn’t show any signs. Was she someone from high school? I often meet people I don’t know who know me from the past.

But they don’t know me… and she didn’t know me…

As I repeated these thoughts, I remembered the restaurant and the friend I was holding in my hands, and the conversation got lost, and so did time.

Have you ever hated someone you don’t even know?

I hate that girl now.

I arrived at the restaurant five minutes late for my shift. The place was quite that day. But George was shouting, as usual.

“Welcome, boss! Why did you bother coming so early? You were supposed to rest. We’ll do the work for you,” George said angrily.

“Thanks, George. I prefer to manage my work myself,” I replied with a sarcastic smile.

Then I continued walking toward the kitchen, leaving George behind—angry as always, loud as always.

Honestly, things really did look the way George described them. It was almost as if my late father had been the owner of the restaurant. Yes, I did receive special treatment there. It was natural, after all. That loud man, George, had been a close friend of my father, and so had Mark, the head chef.

I like Mark.

And I like that noisy George as well.

They like me too.

But that isn’t the reason for my constant negligence at work. The truth is, I would probably be careless in any other restaurant as well. To be more honest, I would be careless in almost any job.

Even if I were a movie actor—my lifelong dream.

Anyway, I entered the kitchen and greeted Mark.

He was busy, as always, sweat dripping from his face. Yet that didn’t stop him from returning the greeting politely, in his usual calm voice.

If there was someone I enjoyed talking to more than cigarettes… it would definitely be Mark.

I stepped out of the kitchen a few minutes later and glanced around, carefully avoiding George’s gaze.

I saw Alfred and William—my coworkers, or rather, my friends.

They were wiping down the tables, preparing for the approaching wave of hunger.

As I watched them, Alfred noticed me. He raised his arm in greeting and gestured for me to come over. I walked toward them and began cleaning alongside them.

George was still staring.

We finished wiping all the tables and arranged them neatly.

George was still staring.

Mark had also finished his initial preparations.

Time passed, its 9 am the time we start working, and george was still staring.

The restaurant was unusually crowded that day, but the rush faded quickly after the first wave of customers, leaving us completely empty by one in the afternoon...

I dropped into one of the chairs to catch my breath before heading off for my little conversation with my little friend.

Even though I hadn’t really moved much during that earlier frenzy, my feet felt like they no longer belonged to me. I swear, it felt as if I had been carrying the entire planet on my back.

I pulled another chair closer and rested my legs on it, letting my gaze drift up toward the ceiling.

Strangely, despite all the years I’ve spent working here, I’ve never quite gotten used to that ceiling.

I closed my eyes slowly...

With each deep breath—drawn from somewhere far deeper than my lungs—my exhausted muscles began to loosen, sinking into a heavy, reluctant calm.

Cold air in...

Warm air out...

Cold...

Warm...

Then suddenly—

I felt heat against my face.

Not burning, just... irritating.

As if someone had placed a winter heater fan directly in front of me.

Opened my eyes slowly—the world was blurred at first. Shapes melted into one another, and for a moment I thought I saw a policeman standing over me. No… wait. It was a girl. She was wearing a black shirt and black pants, her figure steady against the fading haze of my vision.

“Wait… you’re that girl,” I said, my voice dry, almost unfamiliar to my own ears.

She tilted her head slightly, as if studying me, a faint, unreadable expression crossing her face. “Took you long enough,” she replied calmly.