My story with her

How is that?

I don’t know what came over me, but I suddenly got up from my seat and said, “Please, have a seat. Let me take your order, miss.”

Wait… what?

“Miss”? Since when was I this polite? And more importantly—why was I even standing? This was my break. Normally, I wouldn’t lift a finger in a situation like this. If a customer walked in, I’d lazily say, “Please go to another table,” and if I were in a slightly better mood, I’d call one of my coworkers to deal with them.

So what just happened?

Amid that pile of questions, she called out to me while staring at the menu, “Fish soup, please.”

I was still staring at her, confused at myself. She slowly raised her gaze toward me. “What? Is the soup unavailable…? Ah, I really wanted it.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not,” I said in a startled tone…

Then, in an even louder, more shocked voice, I added, “What?!”

Her pupils widened, and I’m certain mine did too, even though I couldn’t see them.

I took two slow steps back…

Then turned and headed quickly toward the kitchen, completely dazed by myself and what I was saying.

I entered the kitchen and shut the door, still completely out of it. Mark and William were having a snack, talking about politics. Alfred was sitting nearby, exhausted—as expected, since we rarely get customers at this time of day.

“Mark,” I said, almost panicking, “prepare a fish soup, please.”

“But I thought you hated fish soup. Did the smell of my delicious soup finally win you over?” Mark replied, laughing.

“It’s not for me. There’s a customer,” I said.

Mark and William exchanged confused looks. Then William stood up, walked over, and placed his hand on my forehead.

“Alex, are you okay?”

Then he quietly opened the kitchen door and took a quick glance outside… he saw the girl waiting. He closed the door again, smiling slyly. He looked at me, then at Mark.

“Ahhh… I see now.”

“What? What do you see?” I said, annoyed.

With an even wider, more mischievous grin and a sarcastic tone, he said, “Nothing. Come on, Mark, we don’t want to keep Alex waiting.”

I growled, “Keep me waiting for what?!”

Mark looked even more confused, but he got up and started preparing the soup.

William came closer again while I stood there, arms crossed, waiting irritably. Then he said calmly, his smile dripping with mischief, “So… when were you planning to tell me, my friend?”

“Tell you what?” I replied, my anger barely contained in my voice.

He bumped his shoulder into mine as he stood beside me, carrying the mischief of an entire galaxy in that grin.

“Her, of course… her,” he said, raising his eyebrows toward the outside.

“Ah, William, you don’t understand anything,” I said with clear irritation.

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his face still full of that cosmic-level mischief. “I’m still too young for such matters.”

He burst into laughter.

Mark’s curiosity grew, and even Alfred started paying attention. They both looked at me in confusion.

“What’s going on, Alexander?” Mark asked.

“Nothing. Just hurry up with the soup, please,” I said quickly.

“Alright, alright,” Mark replied.

A few minutes later, the soup was ready. I carried it in silence and headed outside.

As I walked out of the kitchen, the king of mischief followed me and stopped at the doorway. I couldn’t see him, but I swear I could feel his sly smile watching me.

I placed the dish on the table and said angrily, “Here. Your order.”

Then I turned to leave the restaurant.

But before I could go, she called out, “Wait… what’s your problem? Are you weird or something?”

I turned back, even angrier, and said with a sarcastic, bitter smile, “Funny… look who’s talking about being weird. What happened to clothing stores? Did you just come back from a funeral or something?”

She replied sharply, “Excuse me if you don’t understand fashion. I apologize—I’ll take your strange taste into account next time. I’ll come to your restaurant dressed in a way that matches the elegance of its waiters!”

I continued walking outside, pulled a cigarette from my pack, and lit it—just to cool down…

…and then I started smoking

My nerves had calmed down a little after a few productive conversations with my pack. After two or three cigarettes, I managed to forget everything that had been bothering me, and I continued sitting on the chair outside the restaurant.

The chair was on the other side of the road, to the left of the restaurant’s front, so I could see them while no one could see me—unless they were really looking.

From this distance, everything seemed less irritating:

The clatter of dishes turned into a murmur,

The customers’ complaints became nothing more than moving lips,

And George… looked like a silent version of himself, which was by far his best version.

I took a deep drag from my cigarette and exhaled slowly, as if I were sending my thoughts away with it to dissolve into the air...