It’s been three weeks since I moved to this town. Three weeks since I left everything behind—again.
My parents tracked down last ti. I don’t know how they did it, but they showed up at Ella’s apartnt, dragging back like I was so rebellious teenager who didn’t know what was best for her. My stepmother didn’t waste a second before reminding why I left in the first place.
This ti, I made sure they wouldn’t find . I didn’t even leave Ella an address, I changed my number, so apparently there’s no breadcrumbs for them to follow. It’s better this way.
I don’t know anyone here, but that’s the point. I needed sowhere quiet, sowhere I could focus on my education without looking over my shoulder. Sowhere I could finally breathe.
But breathing doesn’t pay bills, and my savings are almost gone. If I don’t find a job soon, I won’t even have enough to eat, let alone pay for school.
I’ve spent the past two days walking up and down the streets, popping into every shop, café, and diner I can find. Asking if they’re hiring feels humiliating, but I don’t have a choice.
So far, no luck.
My legs ache, my shoes are worn, and my stomach won’t stop growling. There’s a diner across the street, its neon sign flickering like it’s on its last leg. I hesitate for a second before crossing.
The bell jingles as I step inside. It’s small, a little rundown, but warm. The sll of coffee and fried food hits instantly, and my stomach twists again.
A woman behind the counter looks up. She’s older, with tired eyes and a kind smile. "Can I help you, hon?"
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "Good morning. Are you hiring?"
She raises an eyebrow, glancing over. I can tell she’s sizing up, trying to figure out if I’m worth her ti.
"We might be," she says finally. "You got experience?"
I hesitate. "Yes, officially. I’ve helped out at cafés before—taking orders, cleaning tables, stuff like that. I’m a quick learner, I promise."
She doesn’t look convinced. "What happened to that café?"
"I moved," I say simply, hoping she doesn’t ask for details.
She tilts her head, waiting for more, but I keep my mouth shut.
She sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. "Alright. Leave your na and number. I’ll pass it on to the manager."
Relief washes over , even though I know it’s not a guarantee. "Thank you," I say quickly, scribbling my na and number on a napkin she hands .
She nods, her expression softening just a little. "Good luck, hon."
As I step back outside, the cold air hits , and I pull my jacket tighter around myself.
I wish I could say I feel hopeful, but the truth is, I don’t. I’ve been here before—waiting, hoping, wondering if I’ll get a chance to prove myself.
But I don’t have ti to feel sorry for myself. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll just keep looking. I don’t have a choice.
I’m starting to wonder if moving here was a mistake.
The town is quiet, sleepy even. The streets are lined with small shops and cafés, most of them already open for the day. I keep my head down, just walking.
I don’t even see him until it’s too late. We collide—hard. My shoulder slams into his, and I stumble back, almost losing my balance and he caught imdiately.
"Oh, I’m so sorry!" I blurt out, my cheeks burning.
"No, no, it’s my fault," he says at the sa ti, his voice warm and steady.
I look up, and for a mont, I forget how to breathe. He’s tall, with dark hair that’s just ssy enough to look effortless, and his eyes—bright, sharp, like they’re seeing right through .
"You’re the new transfer student, right?" he asks, his lips curving into a small smile.
I blink, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. How do you know that?"
He shrugs. "Small town. Word gets around fast."
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod, clutching my bag a little tighter.
"You look like you could use a break," he says, his smile widening. "Let take you to breakfast."
I shake my head quickly. "Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m fine."
"Co on," he insists, his tone light but firm. "You’re new here, right? Consider it a welco to the neighborhood."
I hesitate, glancing at the diner across the street. My stomach growls again, loud enough that I know he hears it.
"Fine," I say finally, my voice soft. "But just this once."
The diner is small and cozy, the kind of place that slls like coffee and bacon grease. We sit in a booth by the window, and he orders for both of us—a burger and coffee.
"I’m Mike, by the way," he says, leaning back in his seat.
"Fiona," I reply, wrapping my hands around the warm mug of coffee.
"Fiona," he repeats, like he’s testing the sound of it. "Nice na."
"Thanks," I mumble, my cheeks heating up again.
"So," he says, taking a bite of his burger. "What made you move here?"
I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. "Family stuff," I say finally, keeping it vague.
He raises an eyebrow, waiting for more.
I sigh, staring down at my plate. "It’s complicated. My stepmother... she’s not exactly easy to live with. Things got bad, so I left."
He doesn’t say anything for a mont, but his expression softens. "That sounds rough."
"It was," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I’m here now. I just want to focus on school and figure things out."
He nods, like he understands more than he’s letting on. "How are you planning to pay for college all on your own?"
I hesitate again. "I applied for a job at a diner earlier. I’m not sure if I’ll get it, but... I don’t have a choice. I need to make it work."
Mike smiles, leaning forward slightly. "Well, you’re in luck. I run a bakery and food shop a few kiloters from the school. We’re looking for soone to help out. If you’re interested, the job’s yours."
I stare at him, my heart skipping a beat. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," he says, his smile widening. "You seem like a hard worker. And I could use the help."
Relief washes over so fast I feel dizzy. "Thank you," I say quickly, my voice shaky. "I an it. I really appreciate it."
"Don’t ntion it," he says, finishing the last bite of his burger. "Just swing by tomorrow morning, and I’ll show you around."
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips for the first ti in weeks.
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