I woke up in a tiny apartment that still didn't quite feel like mine yet. And honestly, "woke up" was generous - sleep had been light, fractured, barely there. Like my body had agreed to lie down, but my mind had refused to follow.
Nighttime was always the worst. That was when everything got loud. Even with the city muted behind these four walls, my thoughts filled every corner, circling and circling until there was nothing else left in the room but them.
I kicked the duvet off and dragged myself out of bed. The rest of the furniture had finally arrived, making the space look more like a home than an empty shell, though it still felt like I was temporarily occupying someone else's life rather than starting my own.
Sunday. I wasn't sure what to do with a day like Sunday. Tomorrow I started my first shift at Sullivan's, and somehow that made today feel even more suspended - like time had slowed down just to make me sit inside it.
In the bathroom, I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection. Blue eyes looking back at me - too familiar, too sharp. The same shade I used to see in someone else's face, someone who no longer opened theirs. I held the gaze a little too long before looking away.
I dressed without thinking too hard about it: jeans, a plain t-shirt, a jacket thrown loosely over my shoulders. I left without breakfast, as usual, and stepped out into the bustle of Chicago with no plan other than moving forward.
I didn't know where I was going. There was no destination, no intention - just motion. I stayed close to what I vaguely recognized, letting my feet decide instead of my mind.
Even on a Sunday, the city felt alive in a way that made me feel... absent. People moved in groups, laughing, talking, existing together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Families, friends, couples passing by in warm clusters of life I couldn't seem to access.
It reminded me, painfully, of everything I didn't have - and wasn't sure I ever would. I had never been good at connection. Not anymore. Not since everything changed. Somewhere along the way, it had become easier to stay on the outside of people than risk being inside and losing them again.
Maybe I used to be different. Before. Before my parents. Before everything fractured into a life I didn't recognize. But that version of me felt like someone I had read about rather than lived as.
Without realizing it, my feet carried me to Sullivan's. Closed today, but not empty. I could see Janie inside through the glass, moving between tables and the register, dancing slightly to something I couldn't hear. There was a kind of lightness to her that felt distant from me, like she existed in a different frequency of the same world.
Not wanting to be noticed, I crossed the street and ended up in a small park tucked behind a subway entrance. I sat on a bench and watched the city instead.
From here, the buildings looked impossibly tall, stacked close together like they were competing for air. Glass windows reflected other windows, lives layered on top of lives. Offices filled with movement even on a Sunday - people in a hurry, always in a hurry, briefcases in hand, phones pressed to ears.
It felt strange. Was it Sunday? Or had I simply fallen out of step with time altogether?
Everyone here seemed to be going somewhere specific.
I wasn't.
I was just...here.
Stuck in something quiet and unchanging while everything else kept moving.
***
The rain outside my apartment made everything feel heavier, like the sky itself had decided to press down. I had walked until my legs stopped wanting to cooperate, until there was nothing left to see, and eventually found myself back at the apartment I still couldn't properly call home.
Home felt like the wrong word. Too warm. Too permanent. This place was neither.
I ate something that could generously be described as a sandwich and checked my phone. 19:54. Too early to sleep, too late to start anything. I hovered in that uncomfortable middle space where time exists but purpose doesn't.
That was when my eyes landed on the metal box sitting on the coffee table.
I stared at it longer than I meant to.
Inside were notes. Pieces of people I could never get back. Words written by hands I would never see move again. I wasn't sure I was ready for any of it - but the ache in my chest answered for me.
My fingers opened the lid before I could change my mind. I didn't go all in. I couldn't. I just reached in, pulled one note, and shut it again like I was sealing something dangerous back inside.
Kat,
You left your jacket again. I'm starting to think you do it on purpose so you can steal mine.
Also, there's pasta in the fridge. Eat it. Not optional.
— Chris
Something inside me cracked in a way that didn't fully break, but bent painfully under the weight of it. It was such a small thing - ordinary, domestic, nothing special at all. And yet it felt like it filled the room.
Chris had always been like that. Present in the smallest ways. Looking after me without making it feel like a burden.
I let out a slow breath, already reaching back into the box before I even decided to.
The next note was folded more carefully. His handwriting steadier, more deliberate.
Hey,
You've been quiet lately. I'm trying not to hover, but you make that very difficult, you know that?
I know you don't always like talking, but you don't have to carry everything on your own. You never did.
We're okay. I've got you. Always.
— C
My grip tightened around the paper. It felt heavier than it should have, like ink and memory had weight. I could almost hear his voice between the lines, calm and familiar in a way that made my throat tighten.
Another note slipped into my hand before I even realized I was moving again.
If you're reading more than one of these at a time, it means I didn't get the chance to explain things properly.
So I need you to do something for me.
Don't ignore the feeling when something isn't right. You've always had good instincts - better than you think. Trust them.
There are things I kept from you on purpose. Not because I didn't trust you, but because I needed you out of it.
If anything starts to feel off - anything at all - you don't stay and figure it out. You leave.
No questions. No waiting.
Just go.
— Christian
My breath caught hard in my throat.
This didn't feel like him.
Or maybe it did, and I just never knew that version.
My stomach twisted as I reread the first line over and over.
If you're reading more than one of these...
Something cold settled behind my ribs.
I couldn't keep going. Not tonight. Not with that sitting inside me like a warning I didn't understand.
I shoved the note back into the box and closed the lid firmly. Too firmly.
Final.
My hands stayed on it a second too long.
"I'm not doing this tonight," I whispered to the empty room, and walked away.
***
The bell above the door chimed softly as I pushed it open, the early morning light already spilling through the large front windows of Sullivan's Café.
It was busier than it had been on my first visit. People already filled the window seats - books open, laptops glowing, coffee cups wrapped in steady hands. The low hum of conversation blended with the hiss of the espresso machine somewhere behind the counter, creating a rhythm I didn't yet know how to step into.
"Good, you're early!" Janies voice easily carried across the space.
I looked up to find her at the register. "I didn't know how busy it would be," I admitted, walking toward her.
"It's always a little unpredictable," she says with an easy smile, tightening her apron. "That's part of the charm."
"Or chaos," another voice added.
I turn slightly as Zariah appears from behind the counter, already in motion. Her braids are pulled into a high ponytail today, the pink ends catching the light as she moves around.
"Mostly chaos," Janie corrects herself, flashing me a warm grin. "But the fun kind. You ready?"
I slighly hesitate for half a second. "I think so."
"Perfect answer," Zariah says. "Means you're not overconfident."
Janie laughs softly at her words. "Alright, let's ease you in. You can stay on register with me for a bit, and we'll rotate you onto drinks later."
I simply nod, slipping behind the counter, tying a warm orange apron around myself, I was now officially a part of this place. The space feels smaller from this side, more structured. Everything had its place - cups stacked neatly, syrups lined up, the quiet rhythm of a system I didn't know yet.
"Don't worry," Zariah adds, leaning slightly closer as she passed me. "You'll pick it up fast. And if not -" she shrugged lightly, "we fake it 'til we make it, baby!"
"I'm good at the faking part." I mumble, the sentence carrying a much deeper meaning.
Zariah laughs "Oh, I like you already."
The first hour passes slowly.
Janie guides me through the multiple choices on register, her voice calm and steady as she explains each step. Most customers are patient, barely noticing my hesitation as I ring up orders with careful precision.
"You're doing just fine," Janie murmurs at one point, glancing over my shoulder. "Take your time. Accuracy over speed."
I nod keeping my focus on the multiple options while trying to find the right one.
"Medium latte," I repeat quietly to the lady in front of me, pressing the correct buttons. "That'll be -"
"$4.75," Zariah finishes from beside me, already handing the drink over. "See? Teamwork."
I look back at her and allow myself a small smile.
***
When the mid morning rush quietens down for a second, I take a deep breath. I have worked in hospitality before, but I have never been the one dealing with a rush of cutomers, Burlington was quiet, easy going, people had time to wait, Chigaco is the complete opposite.
The whole morning Zariah moved like she belonged here, weaving between the espresso machine and the counter with effortless ease. She chatted with customers like she had known them for years, her energy filling the space in a way that made everything feel lighter.
"You want to try one?" she asked suddenly, nodding toward the espresso machine.
I blinked, weirdly strartled by her sudden question. "Now?"
"Yeah, now. Best way to learn."
Janie glances over, considering it for a moment before nodding. "Go on. I'll cover the register."
There was no real way to say no and I guess this wast he best way to learn.
Zariah guides me through it - quick instructions, easy corrections, never making me feel slow even when I was clearly taking my time.
"Okay, not bad," Zariah says after I had finished my first attempt. "Milk's a little... confused, but we'll get there."
"Confused?"
"Yeah," she grins. "It doesn't know what it wants to be yet. Foam? Not foam? Identity crisis."
I let out a quiet breath that almost resembled a laugh, looking back at her and the latte I had just made.
By the time the clock neared noon, I could feel the slight ache in my feet, the unfamiliar rhythm of working again settling into my body, it hadn't even been a month, but I had spent the last weeks without any obligations.
Janie wipes her hands on her apron, glancing toward the door.
"Alright, I'm going to head out," she says. "You two have this covered."
Zariah gives her a mock salute. "Always."
Janie turns to me with a softer expression in her face. "You did well today."
"Thank you."
"Elliott should be here any minute," Janie adds. "He'll take over the afternoon with you."
I nod at her words, though something in my stomach tighens again slightly at the thought of someone new.
"See you tomorrow," Janie says warmly before slipping out the door, the bell chiming softly behind her.
"Okay," Zariah looks at me, clapping her hands once. "Midday shift. Slightly unhinged, but manageable."
I make a short glance at her. "Unhinged?"
"You'll see."
As if on cue, the small bells rings again and I turned my head to the door.
"Speak of the devil," Zariah mutters under her breath with a small smile playing on her lips.
A man steps inside, pushing the door open with his shoulder as he adjusts the strap of a bag across his chest.
"Please tell me I'm not late," he says, slightly out of breath.
"You're late," Zariah repies immediately.
"I knew it."
He runs a hand through his hair before finally looking up - and actually noticing me.
"Oh. Hi."
His tone shifts instantly. Warmer. Curious.
"I'm Elliott," he says, stepping behind the counter like he'd done it a thousand times. "You must be the new hire."
"Katherine," I reply, hoping he won't have the same urge to shorten my name.
"Nice to meet you," he says easily. "On a scale of one to 'I regret all my life choices,' how's your first day going?"
In slightly hesitate thinking about the rude business man throwing his credit card at me earlier when I couldn't find "extra foam" on the register for a good thirty seconds.
"...Somewhere in the middle."
"Perfect," he nods. "That means we haven't scared you off yet."
Zariah snorts. "Give it time."
Elliott leans slightly closer to me, lowering his voice just enough to feel conspiratorial.
"Don't listen to her. I'm the normal one."
"I'm literally the reason this place functions," Zariah shoots back at him.
"Debatable."
I watch their exchange, something unfamiliar settling quietly in my chest.
For the first time since I got here - I felt like I was stepping into something.
Not just passing through.