The Restaurant

That day just happened to be the one day she felt worry-free, one of those rare days in Ann’s life where the weight of her world didn’t press so heavily on her shoulders. There was no ache behind her eyes, no familiar twist of anxiety in her chest—just an open sky, the distant hum of possibility, and Judith beside her, beaming as if the day had been carved out of light just for them.

Having such a day—just once in what felt like forever—was enough for Ann to decide she wasn’t going to think about pain or trauma, or the suffocating shame that usually cloaked her like a second skin. Today, she was going to let go. Just for a little while.

“I’ll worry about what tomorrow will bring… tomorrow,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the wind. “But for now, let me pretend to be a normal teenager for once. Just for today, I’m going to be a normal teenager.”

She leaned her head against the window of Judith’s old van, letting the breeze wash over her face like something holy. The cold kissed her cheeks and tangled itself in her hair, and for a fleeting moment, she felt free—truly, impossibly free.

The drive itself was chaotic but perfect. The girls sang off-key to the music blasting through the speakers, belting out lyrics with an abandon that turned them into a pair of rebels on the run from adulthood. The louder the song, the louder their voices. They didn’t care about rhythm or pitch. They were alive, and they sounded like it. Cars they passed shot them curious, disapproving glances. Pedestrians turned their heads at the noise. But neither of them cared.

Judith, ever the observer, caught sight of Ann smiling between lines of a song—truly smiling, without effort or walls. She saw how Ann let her head fall back in laughter, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with joy. It was rare. It was beautiful. And it made Judith’s chest ache with something bittersweet.

It took a while to arrive, but when they finally reached the fairgrounds, the place was already teeming with life. The energy buzzed through the air like static—excited children raced past cotton candy stands, teenagers loitered with hands in each other’s back pockets, and the elderly swayed gently to old tunes playing from tinny speakers.

Ann stepped out and took in the scene, her eyes wide and overwhelmed but filled with delight. “Let me take in the breath of happiness in the atmosphere,” she said dramatically, inhaling deeply like she was breathing in some magical elixir. “This is amazing! But Jud, I think all the students in Andreville are here. I can’t even count them. They’re everywhere.”

Judith laughed and bumped her shoulder lightly. “Forget them. Let’s have fun. Today is all about us!”

Hand in hand, like warriors stepping into a battlefield of joy, the girls dove into the crowd. They played bingo with old couples who chuckled at their competitiveness and beat them effortlessly. They failed gloriously at the balloon-and-dart games and nearly toppled over laughing. They screamed on the Ferris wheel, shared sticky cotton candy, and let the music of the fair carry them like waves. When a couple of strangers offered them quick dance lessons, they didn’t say no. They sang karaoke off-key, ordered greasy slices of pizza, and let the day turn into memory before it was even over.

It was everything. It was escape. It was peace.

By 5 p.m., Judith dropped a yawning Ann back off at her apartment, both girls clinging to the dregs of the day like it might dissolve if they let go too soon. After tired hugs and another wave goodbye, Ann dragged herself up the creaky staircase, her body aching from laughter and movement.

In the tiny bathroom of her old apartment, she stripped out of her dusty fairground clothes and stepped under the cold shower. The water hit her skin and startled her, but she welcomed it. She scrubbed away the sugar, the sweat, the illusion of normalcy—but not the feeling. The peace clung to her, even as she dried off and collapsed into bed without even bothering to set more than one alarm.

And for once, she slept. Soundly. No tossing, no nightmares clawing at the edges of her mind. No dream. Just silence. And breath. And stillness.

When the blaring alarm pulled her from sleep, she sat up groggy and blinking. Her limbs were heavy, her mind slow to catch up. “Fuck,” she groaned, stumbling around the room. “I really hope I make it in time for my shift. Otherwise, Manager Lee’s going to hit me with another one of his pep talks.”

Somehow, she made it. Just in time.

She changed quickly in the employee locker room, adjusting her apron with practiced movements before stepping into the softly lit, opulent halls of Craves Restaurant.

Peter Lee—Manager Lee to the staff—spotted her instantly.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! What a miracle!” he exclaimed with a loud, theatrical whistle. “My little Ann made it on time today. I think I’ll give you a soda to celebrate.”

Ann rolled her eyes, smirking as she approached. “Manager Lee, please just give me my assigned tables so I can start working before my manager scolds me.”

He chuckled and reached out to pat her head like a dog. She scowled and ducked out of reach.

“You’re just a bully, you know?” she said, squinting up at him. “You know I hate this, but you still do it anyway. Just to show off your muscles and height.”

“I know, shorty,” he said proudly. “It’s part of my charm. Now, you’ve got tables 23, 33, 16, and 5. And just look at that—your first customer has already arrived. Hmm. Table sixteen’s booked appointment just came in.”

He winked and strutted off, clearly enjoying the theatrical chaos of his job. Ann shook her head and turned to her station. She began her shift the way she always did—focused, professional, careful not to draw attention to herself.

She had barely finished taking her third table’s drink orders when a blur of nervous energy sped toward her—Diana.

Ann gave her a lazy glance, uninterested in whatever drama she was surely bringing. She still brought the drama to her anyways.

“Mmhhmm, Ann?” Diana said breathlessly, eyes darting left and right. “I’m in the VIP section, and this young man… he won’t let anyone but you serve him.”

Ann paused, the soda can halfway to her lips. “What?” she asked flatly, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Since when? Who is he? Who does he think he is? And how does that concern me? The VIP room isn’t part of my assigned tables today. Please figure it out on your own.”

Diana, trying not to pout, nodded. “What a life,” she mumbled to herself bitterly. “ I waited for so long, eagerly waiting for their appointment and even switched shifts. I wanted the VIP tables so badly today. Mostly because of him, but… of course, he wants the outcast instead. How unlucky my star is.”

Ann rolled her eyes. “I don’t care. That is not my table,” she said coolly. “Go and attend to your tables any way you can. And if—”

But she cut herself off. Diana’s muttered complaint hadn’t been so quiet after all. The words “outcast” still rang in her ears. They stung, though Ann would never admit it.

She didn’t get the chance to retort. Peter was hurrying toward her, sweating, nerves written all over his usually calm face. That alone was enough to make her tense.

You never saw Peter nervous. Never this nervous.

“Ann?! Annie?” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Please—please do it for me. Go and see the young man in VIP Room Gold. He won’t let anyone else serve him. He is throwing a tantrum and he… he even knows your full name, Annie.”

The world seemed to slow.

Her breath caught for half a second, but she masked it well. Still, her heartbeat betrayed her—an instant spike beneath her ribs. Her full name? How?

Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deep in her gut twisted with instinct. Whoever this person was, whoever had summoned her by name from the VIP lounge, they weren’t just another rich brat craving gourmet service.

Something was coming.

And suddenly, the peace of the day unraveled like paper in the rain.