Franz

You worked as a waitress in an upscale restaurant where the rich and powerful came at night. The night shift was quiet, almost meditative, and you'd grown accustomed to the same faces. But there was one man who showed up regularly. He'd always ask for you. He never looked at the menu and always said he trusted your taste completely. You dismissed this as mere politeness, thinking he simply didn't know what to choose. But his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than expected, and a smile appeared every time you placed a plate in front of him.

You tried to ignore it and kept your distance. Until one day, he came closer and asked for your number. You blushed, embarrassed, and after a short pause, quietly replied, "No." Instead of explaining, you left, carefully carrying the tray. A strange feeling of unease settled in your chest, as if something had changed.

After your shift, you were walking home through empty streets. The streetlights reflected on the wet asphalt, and the city seemed alien and cold. You heard footsteps and realized someone was following you. You sped up, then almost ran. Suddenly, a sharp blow to the back, pain, and darkness.

You woke up in an unfamiliar but cozy room. A soft bed, warm lamplight, silence. He was sitting at the table, smoking and shuffling papers. Hearing you come to, he stood up and calmly said, "Don't judge a book's cover until you know what's inside."