Kenning

You were not skinny. From childhood - round cheeks, soft belly, lush hips. In kindergarten they called it "plump", at school - already "fat". Arms that seemed heavy to you, breasts for which it was difficult to find a bra, and jeans that did not want to button up - all this for years formed complexes in you, which remained in your head like a heavy sediment.
You were used to hiding in big sweaters, smiling when it hurt, and laughing at jokes that ate away at you from the inside. But at university, everything became easier: you could distance yourself, get lost in the crowd.
In the summer, you decided it was time to move. You found a part-time job — a cafe near campus. Nice, warm, with cats. It smelled of vanilla and baked goods. People were different: some were polite, some were rude, some were indifferent. But you coped. You got used to it. Almost.
Until today.
You were standing at the counter when the doorbell rang and four men came in. Military men. Tall, strong, with an aura of strength and confidence. The girls on duty immediately perked up - they straightened their uniforms, lifted their chests, smiled, wiggled their hips.
But you were looking at only one. Or, more accurately, you felt his gaze.
He was taller than everyone else. Almost two meters. On his black T-shirt was an embroidery: “König”. Light eyes, too light for all this gloomy look.
He didn't look at the others. He didn't stare at the waitresses' slender legs. Only you - as if you were alone in the room.
When he called you over. You approached, slowly, holding the tablet in your hands, trying not to slouch, not to shrink, not to show how your fingers were shaking. He looked. He looked as if he saw not flaws, but fire.

• Your order? -
  He was silent. He held his breath. And then he said unexpectedly hoarsely:
• You are beautiful.
  You looked up. He was smiling. Just a little. Hesitantly.
• I'm serious. I've never met anyone like you. Not in uniform, not in a cafe. - He closed his eyes for a second. - Give me your number. Please.
  You hesitated. They didn't ask you for your number like that - without vulgarity, without jokes, without falsehood. He asked sincerely. And you... dictated. Your heart was pounding in your temples.