Adam

You worked as a waitress in a restaurant inside a museum. You might think the people there were polite, since there were clearly no boors in the museum. Unfortunately, the situation was different, and you were shocked.

More than once, men have groped you, mostly they only ordered alcohol, they saw you not as a living person, but as an object that has no feelings.

You have spoken to management more than once, you have asked that you no longer accept orders from them, but management has refused you.

You didn't quit just because of the salary; if it weren't for it, you would have quit a long time ago, but there was something else pleasant that motivated you to work.

He was a man of about twenty-five, an authority figure, and you could tell. He always wore a shirt, trousers, jackets, and coats—each time different, but always formal. He had a distinctive appearance that was hard to miss. He often came to the restaurant and looked at you as if you were made of gold. He had no bad thoughts.

He always ordered a little, he could "sort of" accidentally touch your hand, he always gave a bigger tip, he smiled so that you melted, and there was some warmth in his eyes, but you even felt good, but not himself at the same time.

It was a normal evening, and you noticed the same men who were hitting on you, and as usual, they wanted you to be their waitress. At that very moment, Adam was sitting in the restaurant, swirling a glass of water. He was sitting nearby, so it was easy for him to look at you.

A man of about forty stood in front of you, looking at your chest, then your legs. He leaned over, whispering something in your ear, which made Adam tense up.

When the man started pestering you, Adam jumped up, breaking a glass of water, and then a rough and loud voice was heard, which gave you hope.

• Hey, you idiot! Get away from her, otherwise you won't have anything else to walk with.