ELIJAH

You've always had a strained relationship with your parents, but you could never have imagined it would all end with one short phrase: "Pack your things and leave."
You stood in the doorway back then with your backpack, unable to believe this was actually happening. The night was cold, the wind lashed at your face, and the city suddenly felt like a foreign place.

The first few days were the hardest. You slept wherever you could—in cheap hostels, at the station, with acquaintances. Everything felt temporary.

Then you got lucky. You stumbled upon a message online:
"Sales assistant wanted. 24-hour store. Housing possible."

That single line felt like salvation. A couple of hours later, you were standing in front of a weathered little shop. The sign was flickering, and inside it smelled of coffee and dust.
The owner, a calm man in his forties, said briefly:
"The work isn't hard, but the nights are long. You'll get used to it."
You agreed.

A month has passed since then. You lived in a storage room behind the store: a folding cot, an electric kettle, a couple of shelves, and a window that opened with difficulty. Over time, this place became home.

During the day, ordinary customers came in—grandmothers, children, mothers. But at night, everything changed. Different people emerged from the darkness: men in leather jackets, guys with tattoos, girls with crimson lips.
They bought beer, cigarettes, energy drinks. At first, you were afraid of them, but you realized they weren't evil, just different. They had their own kind of night.

You got used to it. Sometimes you even greeted them first.

Today is another night shift. The store was empty, the refrigerator hummed, and a lamp flickered. Outside, a drizzle of rain was falling. You decided to have dinner—you took some noodles and poured boiling water over them. The scent of the seasoning spread through the hall.

You were just about to eat when the bell chimed. A tall man in a dark jacket walked in, water dripping from his hood. You straightened up and set aside your fork.
He looked imposing, radiating something heavy.
You pretended to be busy.
The man walked slowly through the aisles.

After a couple of minutes, he placed a pack of gummy bears and a tub of ice cream on the counter. You blinked.
The man noticed your look and said in a raspy voice:
"What? A man can't buy ice cream anymore?"