**1:35 PM – Sophia's Office, General**
Clara stood by the doorway, arms folded and lips pursed as Sophia placed the last file onto her desk.
Her bun had loosened, a few dark strands falling around her temples—still, her composure never cracked.
"You're not a machine, you know," Clara said, tone edging between irritation and concern.
Sophia didn't look up. "Machines don't perform surgery. I just did."
"Exactly. Which means you need a break. You've been on your feet since dawn."
Sophia pulled open her drawer, glancing at the vibrating phone inside. Another unread message from her stepmother. She shut the drawer with a soft thud and leaned back in her chair.
"There are still reports from the meeting—"
"Nope," Clara said, walking over and pulling the file folder from under Sophia's hand. "I'll handle what's urgent. The rest will survive another hour."
Sophia arched a brow. "That's bold."
"I'm promoted now," Clara smirked, gesturing to the little corner of the office she'd unofficially claimed. "Comes with authority."
Sophia studied her assistant's defiant face for a second longer, then sighed, leaning her head back.
"You'll wake me?"
"If there's anything serious. I promise."
Sophia closed her eyes, letting her body finally melt into the leather cushion behind her.
The scent of disinfectant, paper, and faint lavender from Clara's perfume filled the quiet room.
"I hate this," she muttered.
"What? Resting like a normal human?"
"No," Sophia murmured, lips barely moving. "Letting someone else take care of things."
Clara smiled softly and walked toward the door. "Then consider it practice."
The light dimmed to a gentle hue as Clara stepped out. Sophia let the silence drape over her like a blanket, the lavender scent wrapping around her like a distant memory—one she couldn't afford to reach for.
Finally quiet.
Finally breathing.
The late sun hung lazily in the sky, casting soft gold against the dorm buildings as Jane adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
She glanced at her watch and exhaled. She had twenty-five minutes before her shift at Mr. Ben's café began.
"Sure you don't want me to walk you there?" Mia asked, tossing an empty juice box into the bin as they stepped outside together.
Jane shook her head, smiling. "You just want to stop by and see if the 'doctor fancy car' comes by again."
Mia smirked. "Can you blame me? She's like... out of a magazine. But no, really—I'm just trying to be a good friend."
"I'll be fine," Jane assured her. "It's broad daylight. Nothing like that night."
Mia's expression softened just a little at the memory, but she didn't push. "Alright, alright. Just text me when you're on your break, okay?"
"I will." Jane gave her a quick side hug. "Thanks, Mia."
As they parted ways, Jane walked down the quiet sidewalk alone. Her steps were light, but her mind buzzed slightly.
The thought of the café tugged at her—not because of the customers or the grind of work—but because maybe, just maybe, she'd catch sight of a certain poised doctor again.
Though she told herself it didn't matter.
The wind toyed with her shirt sleeves as she reached the corner near the café. She looked ahead and—
No, not yet. No silver car. No tailored coat. Just the usual late-day crowd drifting in and out.
Jane pulled the door as she stepped behind the shop, entering through the side door.
The bell above the café entrance jingled somewhere behind her as the aroma of fresh espresso and warm pastries surrounded her.
She took a deep breath.
*Time to work,* she told herself, pushing the little hope to the back of her thoughts.
**Inside Mr. Ben's Café – 2:18 PM**
"Jane, you're early," Mr. Ben called from behind the counter, his sleeves rolled up, cheeks flushed from the heat of the espresso machine. "I like that."
Jane smiled as she tied her apron tighter and stepped behind the counter. "Afternoon shift and no morning class today. Figured I'd beat the rush."
Mr. Ben nodded, appreciative. "Good. It's about to get busy. The university across the street has some seminar ending soon. We're going to get flooded."
As if on cue, the soft jingle of the bell over the door rang, and a small group of students walked in, chatting loudly.
Jane jumped straight into the rhythm—taking orders, preparing iced lattes, and calling out names with a practiced ease.
Her body moved automatically, but her mind wandered with every flick of the doorbell.
*Still not here.*
She shook her head at herself.
"Jane," Mr. Ben's voice broke through her thoughts. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said quickly, handing off a cappuccino to a customer. "Just thinking."
"Don't overthink," he grinned, "just pour. It's safer."
She laughed, tension melting from her shoulders as another set of customers stepped in. Jane greeted them warmly, took their orders, made change without missing a beat.
Halfway through restocking the pastry counter, she bent slightly to grab more croissants, and as she straightened—there it was.
The familiar soft *ding* of the door. Something in her chest fluttered uninvited.
But it wasn't her.
Just an old woman with a colorful tote bag, followed by a man in a hoodie.
Jane tried not to sigh. She focused on wiping the counter. She needed to stop being ridiculous.
Someone that polished? She probably didn't even remember Jane's name. Just kindness. Nothing more.
Still… she allowed herself a glance toward the window, just once.
And then kept working.
**Inside Mr. Ben's Café – 2:43 PM**
The place was buzzing now. Chairs scraped the tiled floor, the coffee grinder roared intermittently, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon.
Jane had just handed a steaming flat white to a tall man in glasses when another customer stepped forward—mid-thirties, too much cologne, sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair. He leaned a little too close over the counter as she greeted him.
"Good afternoon. What can I get you?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "How about your number instead of coffee?"
Jane kept her tone professional, her smile flat. "Sorry, just serving coffee today."
The man laughed low, unbothered. "Come on, don't be shy. I've seen you here before. You're too cute to be stuck behind a counter."
She moved slightly back. "I'll take your order if you're ready."
Instead, he leaned in farther, his fingers brushing the edge of her hand resting near the register.
"Hey!" Mr. Ben's voice cut through the noise, calm but unmistakably firm.
The man turned. Mr. Ben was already walking over from the end of the bar, drying his hands with a towel.
"Sir," he said with a courteous smile, "we serve drinks here, not trouble. You want coffee, you're welcome. Anything else, you're in the wrong place."
The customer scoffed but stepped back, eyes flicking between Jane and Ben.
"I'm just being friendly—"
"You're done," Mr. Ben interrupted softly, nodding toward the door. "Have a good day."
A quiet hush fell over the area near the register. The man muttered under his breath, adjusted his sunglasses, and left.
Jane exhaled slowly.
"You okay?" Mr. Ben asked, handing her a glass of water.
She nodded, grateful. "Thanks."
"I'm here, alright?" he said simply, voice lowering. "Nobody touches my staff."
A soft warmth filled Jane's chest. She offered a small, appreciative smile and took a sip of the water before returning to the register.
The café's noise returned—but something in her had quieted. She tucked the moment away like a stone in her pocket: solid, grounding, hers.
Safe. Seen.
She glanced at the line and called out the next order with ease. Back to work.