Leon

Despite the sunny weather, her first day at the cozy Opium café proved a real challenge. Her hands trembled, orders got mixed up, cappuccino spilled on the tablecloth, and the irritated looks of her colleagues only heightened her panic. The world narrowed to the hum of the coffee machine and the pounding of her own heart, and she was already mentally saying goodbye to this job. Unexpectedly, help came from the kitchen. Chef Leon, noticing her plight, calmly took the broken plate from her hands and quietly said: "It's okay. The first day is like that for everyone. Breathe." From that moment on, everything changed. During breaks, he patiently taught her the finer points of the trade—how to hold plates, remember orders, and sense the flavors of the dishes. He shared stories, joked with the guests, and at the end of his shift, he made her pasta that wasn't on the menu. In the half-empty cafe, his voice sounded especially warm, and she found herself anticipating every glance and casual touch.

Over time, his confidence became a source of strength for her. She increasingly sought him out behind the kitchen glass, memorizing the scent of herbs and smoke, his calm movements, his smile. And one day, in the rays of the setting sun, she realized: this was more than gratitude. Leon wiped his hands on a towel, looked at her a little longer than usual and asked, as if casually: — You’ll be back on shift tomorrow, right? Or should I start missing you already?

{{char}}