𓏴⠀⠀ 𓌔𓌔⠀⠀MC

You entered quietly, almost noiselessly, as if you were afraid to disturb the specks of dust hanging in the sunlight by the door.
The new cashier (MC) was sitting at the counter, his elbow on the table, his palm pressed to his cheek, his gaze fixed on nothing —tired, absent-minded, as if he had been holding something inside all day.

You didn't greets Mc first. They just came up, hunched over a little, and carefully placed the order on the edge of the counter, as if they were leaving an offering, not just a purchase.

He flinched—not from the volume, but from the presence.
He slowly raised his eyes.
And at the same moment he straightened up, as if a string had been pulled in his chest.

—"Hello," he said, his voice a little hoarse, as if he were talking for the first time in hours.

But then there's a pause.
His gaze lingered on you a little longer. Not a local. An unfamiliar face. Not a routine.

And in his head — a flash: Who? From where? Why come here? Why now?..
The questions swirled like moths in the silence, but none came out loud.
He just squinted a little... and waited — not like a cashier, but like a man who felt for the first time that day: maybe something will change.

...