Yuna sets a mug of something warm in front of me. "Here. It's just house brew, but it'll wake you up."
I nod, wrapping my hands around the cup. The heat seeps into my skin, chasing off the last of the morning chill. I take a sip. Bitter, no sugar. But not bad.
"So," she says, propping her chin on her palm, "how do you know Noah?"
"I don't, really," I admit, "met him yesterday. He pointed out the flyer."
Yuna chuckles. "That sounds like him. He's got this weird sixth sense for people who need ... something."
"Is he the owner?" I ask.
"Not exactly. He doesn't like being called anything. But the place wouldn't run without him. He comes and goes, helps when he feels like it. Talks like a poet, disappears like a cat." She shrugs. "I think he's been through a lot, but he never says much."
"Do you know where he lives?"
"Nope." She grins. "I'm pretty sure he lives in a different timeline."
That gets a small smile out of me.
"I didn't see you yesterday here," I say.
She nods. "Because yesterday was my day off. The girl you might have seen yesterday was Chloe."
"I see." I glance around. "So ... how'd you end up here?"
Yuna leans back against the counter, looking thoughtful. "I came from Senfield. Small town, lots of rice fields and gossip. Not much else. My parents ran a food stall. I always wanted more, you know? Something different. So I packed up, moved to Cortez with barely anything, and started job-hunting like a madwoman."
And here I thought I was living the worst scenario of this world ... how ungrateful. "That must've been hard."
She snorts. "It was hard. Still is. I sleep in a shared flat with three girls and a broken radiator. But hey—this place took me in. Noah taught me how to use the machine. Burned five milk jugs the first week."
"And they didn't fire you?"
"They laughed. Then made me clean the whole counter." She winks. "Fair trade."
The door chimes again. This time, it's Noah.
He enters like he's walking into a slow dream, hands in his pockets, scarf loosely looped around his neck. His eyes meet mine briefly, and there's a faint curve to his lips—more acknowledgment than greeting.
"Morning," Yuna calls.
Noah gives a nod. "Busy?"
"Not yet. Your guy's here."
I straighten, unsure if I'm supposed to follow. But Noah jerks his head toward the hallway behind the counter. "This way."
I follow him into a back room, small and quiet, with old furniture and a low humming fridge. He gestures toward a chair, then sits across from me, one leg crossed over the other.
There's no clipboard. No forms.
Noah folds his hands together. "You want to learn and work hard?"
I blink. "Yes."
He nods, like that's all he needed. "Okay. You start tomorrow. Yuna will show you the ropes."
That's it? What?
I sit there a second longer, waiting for more, but Noah doesn't move. Instead, he looks at me. Not through me, not past me—at me.
"You're surprised," he says.
"Yeah," I admit, "that was ... strangely too easy for a job interview."
"What were you expecting?"
"A checklist. References. A background check. Maybe a rejection."
He leans back, one arm draped over the chair. "This isn't that kind of place. We don't ask people to prove they're worthy. We let them show it. Everyone will fail and make mistakes in their first weeks, but we keep the ones who keeps trying and willing to learn."
I glance around the dim little room. "You're not afraid people will lie to you?"
"People lie all the time," he says simply. "But desperation tells a different truth."
That sits heavy in the air. "So you saw that in me?" I ask.
"I saw someone at the edge. Someone who still wanted to stand up. That's more than most."
I don't know what to say to that. It makes my throat feel tight. This conversation somehow feels heavy. Everything he says is intriguing. Like they meant something.
Noah continues, "This place ... it's small, messy, sometimes chaotic. But if you show up, if you care even a little, it becomes something steady. That's rare in this city."
I nod slowly. "And you? What keeps you coming back?"
A flicker of something passes through his eyes. "Let's just say I made a promise to someone once. This place keeps me close to it."
"You speak in riddles a lot," I murmur.
He laughs, soft and distant. "Comes with age. And regret."
We sit in silence for a few seconds. "I bet you're not much older than me, but you surely speak like you're 40 or something."
"Damn, 40? Do I look that old?"
I flick my tongue, looking at him annoyed. "You twisted my words."
He laughs. "You're easy to rile up. Will have a good time teasing you."
"Anyway, is Yuna working alone?" I ask.
Noah nods. "This cafe isn't that busy. Maybe it looks like you have so much responsibilities and job desk, but it's fair with the amount of salary you'll get. You'll work 8 hours per day. The shift will be rolling every week. Any questions?"
There are a lot, but the biggest one is am I able to do this? Working 9-5 is a new thing for me. I just blink, then shake my head. "I will ask you if I have one."
He raises an eyebrow, then chuckles. "You seem to have a lot in your plate, but sure. Here's my card name. You can text or call me whenever."
I look at the card name on my hand. A simple card—white background, his name and number printed in clean black font. Too simple, but looks cool. So Noah.
He then stands. "You hungry? Yuna probably kept something from breakfast."
"If it's not a bother," I say. Well, I am starving. My last meal was a piece of bread yesterday morning.
As we step out of the back room, something in me settles. Not peace. Not yet. But a sense that maybe I'm allowed to keep going.
That maybe, just maybe, it really can be this simple.