The restaurant woke up before the city did.
Rae wiped her hands on her apron and pushed the glass door open, letting the early morning air rush in. The small bell above the door rang softly—ting—a sound she'd heard almost every day of her life. Inside, the familiar smells of spices, oil, and freshly steamed rice wrapped around her like a blanket.
The radio on the counter crackled to life, playing an old love song from years ago. The kind people hummed without realizing. Rae smiled faintly as she turned the volume up just a little.
"Too loud ," her father Steve santos said from the kitchen, though his voice carried amusement more than complaint.
"You always say that," Rae replied, grabbing a tray. "But you never turn it off."
That's because this song reminds me of your mother ," he muttered.
Rae paused for half a second—then pretended she didn't hear. Some words stayed better unspoken.
The first customer of the day pushed the door open.
"Aiyo, Rae! You're early again!" an elderly aunty said, adjusting her bag.
"When am I not?" Rae grinned. "Same order?"
"Of course. But today, little extra curry. And give aunty some discount, hm?"
Rae laughed. "Aunty, yesterday you said the same thing."
"And yesterday you still gave discount," the aunty winked.
Rae leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically. "Don't let my dad hear this."
From the kitchen, her father called out, "I can hear."
Both Rae and the aunty burst into laughter.
As the morning went on, the restaurant filled slowly—office workers grabbing quick breakfasts, regulars who knew Rae by name, people who asked about her father's health, about the weather, about life.
Rae moved easily between tables, balancing plates, refilling water, exchanging small smiles and casual jokes.
"Rae, you should get married already," another aunty teased while sipping tea.
Rae nearly choked. "Aunty! Let me at least finish paying bills first."
"Too picky, that's why," the aunty shook her head knowingly.
Rae smiled, but her chest tightened for reasons she couldn't explain.
The radio song changed—another familiar tune, slower this time.
Rae froze while wiping a table. The melody stirred something old, something distant. Laughter in school hallways. Voices calling her name. Promises whispered like they would last forever.
She shook her head lightly. Don't.
This was her life now. The restaurant. Her father. Quiet routines. Simple days.
Her father placed a glass of water beside her. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," Rae said quickly.
He studied her for a moment but said nothing. He never pushed. He trusted her silences.
Outside, the sky was bright blue. Inside, the radio kept playing. Customers kept coming and going. Everything moved forward as it always did.
Yet Rae had the strange feeling that something was waiting for her—just beyond the ordinary.
And she didn't know whether she wanted to face it or keep pretending that mornings like this would last forever.
Rae glanced at the clock hanging above the counter.
10:47 Am
Her smile faded—just a little.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. No new notifications. No missed calls. She already knew, but her thumb still opened the email.
Thank you for attending the interview…
After careful...
She didn't read the rest.
Rae locked her phone and exhaled slowly, like she'd practiced doing so many times before. She wiped her hands on her apron and forced her shoulders to relax.
Again, she thought.
That's the third one this month.
"Rae?" her father called from the kitchen. "Table three wants the bill."
"Coming!" she replied, her voice light, almost cheerful.
She handed the bill, accepted the cash, smiled, bowed her head politely. Nobody noticed the way her fingers trembled for half a second.
When the restaurant finally quieted down, Rae untied her apron and hung it on the hook near the door. Before leaving, she paused and looked back at the place—at the wooden tables, the radio, her father wiping the counter.
Above the door, the old signboard creaked slightly in the breeze.
SECOND HOME
The paint had faded at the edges.
Rae reached up and straightened it, pressing it gently as if it might fall if she didn't.
"Stay strong," she murmured, not sure if she was talking to the restaurant or herself.
Outside, the street was already alive.
A bus splashed water from a puddle, narrowly missing her shoes. A street vendor shouted about fresh bread. Someone bumped into her shoulder and apologized quickly before disappearing into the crowd.
"Sorry—sorry," Rae said automatically, fixing her bag strap.
As she walked, her hair came loose from its tie. She tried to fix it while moving, nearly tripping over a cracked pavement. A scooter zoomed past, honking loudly, making her jump.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, steadying herself.
At a red light, she stopped.
Her phone buzzed again.
For a moment, hope flared.
But it was just a reminder—Interview Follow-up (unsuccessful).
Rae closed her eyes.
The light turned green.
People rushed forward, but Rae stayed still for a second longer than necessary. Around her, everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going. Offices. Meetings. Futures.
She took a breath, lifted her head, and stepped forward.
Even if today hadn't gone her way, even if doors kept closing—
she would still walk.
Because stopping wasn't an option.
Rae barely took three steps before something warm splashed onto her arm.
"AH—!"
She froze.
A kid stood in front of her, eyes wide, holding an empty cup. Chocolate milk dripped slowly onto the pavement.
"I—I'm sorry!" the boy panicked. "I tripped!"
Rae stared at her sleeve… then at the boy's terrified face.
For a second, she wanted to cry.
Then she laughed.
It slipped out before she could stop it—soft at first, then louder. The kind of laugh that surprised even herself.
"It's okay," she said, crouching down. "At least it wasn't hot."
The boy blinked. "You're not angry?"
"Should I be?" Rae smiled. "Accidents happen."
His mother rushed over, apologizing repeatedly, trying to wipe Rae's sleeve with tissues.
"It's really fine," Rae insisted. "I work in a restaurant. This is nothing."
As they walked away, Rae shook her arm gently, still smiling to herself.
"Laughing already? That was fast."
She turned.
Kai stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, grinning like he'd just won something.
"Kai," Rae said flatly. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to see you almost cry," he teased. "And then laugh five seconds later."
She rolled her eyes. "You're supposed to say hi first."
"Hi," he said cheerfully. "Also, you smell like soy sauce."
Rae snorted despite herself. "I hate you."
"No you don't." He fell into step beside her. "Rough morning?"
She hesitated. Just a second.
"Same as always," she shrugged.
Kai glanced at her but didn't push. That was why she liked him. He knew when to joke and when to stay quiet.
They walked together, matching pace easily, like they'd done for years.
"You still going for interviews?" he asked casually.
"Yeah."
"And?"
Rae sighed. "Yeah."
Kai clicked his tongue. "Their loss."
She smiled, smaller this time, but real.
As they reached the corner, Kai bumped her shoulder lightly. "Come on. Coffee's on me. You look like you need it."
Rae looked up at the sky—still blue, still bright.
"Fine," she said. "But if you make fun of me again—"
"I absolutely will," he interrupted.
She laughed again, shaking her head as they crossed the street together.
For the first time that day, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.
Kai laughed beside her, talking about something unimportant.
Rae smiled—but somewhere deep inside, a name she hadn't thought about in years stirred quietly.
She pushed it away.
She didn't know yet that the next time she heard it, everything would change.
→ End Chapter 1