CHAPTER FOUR: "First day."

Hailley had been arranged to work in the staff canteen, which she found perfectly ok, unlike the busy student's canteen. She liked the quiet and serene atmosphere in the staff canteen.

The staff canteen was tucked just behind the main academic block, close enough to the classrooms to be convenient, yet far enough to offer a pause from the rhythm of lessons and ringing bells. Unlike the lively students’ canteen, this space carried a softer atmosphere — one designed for breathing, for quiet conversation, for restoring energy between responsibilities.

Wide windows allowed natural light to pour in, warming the polished floors and wooden tables arranged in neat rows. The air often carried the comforting aroma of fresh coffee, warm bread, and home-cooked meals prepared with care. Ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, stirring a gentle breeze that softened the midday heat.

This was not just a dining space; it was a shared refuge. Teachers came in with exercise books tucked under their arms, their conversations flowing between lesson plans and laughter. School bus drivers, still in their uniforms, would sit nearby, exchanging stories from the morning routes. There was no hierarchy here — only colleagues gathered around simple tables, united by the rhythm of the same school day.

Near the entrance stood a small cashier’s desk, modest and functional rather than imposing. The cashier was not confined behind a glass counter; when no customers were present, she could move freely within the space.

The canteen accommodated everyone comfortably, with enough seating to allow both small private discussions and larger shared tables. It was a place where exhaustion softened, where morning tensions dissolved into shared smiles, and where the school’s adults — educators and drivers alike — could momentarily set down their duties and simply be.

In that quiet corner of the campus, nourishment was not only physical; it was communal.

Hailley’s first day behind the cashier’s desk did not begin with noise or confusion. It began with attention.

Her aunty had explained the system carefully: teachers did not pay in cash. Instead, every purchase was recorded under their name. At the end of the month, the amounts would be calculated and settled formally through the school’s internal system. Her role was simple in theory — write down the item, the amount, and obtain the teacher’s signature.

Simple.

But to Hailley, simple did not mean careless.

She sat upright on her chair, the ledger placed neatly before her, pen aligned parallel to the edge of the book. The pages were clean, ruled with columns for date, name, items, total, and signature. Before the first customer arrived, she had already studied the format twice, mentally rehearsing how she would write each entry.

When the first teacher approached, she greeted politely, voice calm but firm.

“Good morning, sir.”

He ordered tea and bread. She wrote it down slowly, clearly, ensuring the handwriting was legible — not rushed, not decorative. She spelled the full name, not initials. She repeated the amount aloud before sliding the book forward.

“Please confirm and sign here.”

There was something composed about the way she did it. No hesitation. No apology for asking.

Some teachers, used to informality, barely glanced at the page before signing. But Hailley watched carefully. Not suspiciously — just attentively. She ensured the amount written matched what was served. If someone added an extra drink after signing, she opened a new line. No squeezing entries between spaces. No shortcuts.

She developed small habits immediately:

Each entry separated with a clean line.

Totals circled lightly for visibility.

Dates written in full.

No overwriting — if she made a mistake, she neatly struck through and rewrote beneath.

By midday, the page looked orderly, almost architectural in its precision.

If a teacher joked, “You don’t trust us?” she would smile faintly.

“It’s just proper recording, sir.”

And that was the truth.

It wasn’t mistrust. It was foresight.

She understood something important on that first day: memory can fail, but ink does not.

In a system where payment was delayed, denial was easy. “I don’t remember buying that.” “That wasn’t me.” “Maybe it was written twice.”

But with her methodical structure, every entry stood firm, names clear, signatures present and totals visible. There would be no confusion, no ambiguity either, because she cherished this job so much she didn't want to commit any mistakes. Over were days she had to spend pondering about her life and worth or use.

By the end of the day, her nervousness had softened into quiet pride. The ledger in front of her did not look like the work of a beginner. It looked controlled and secure.

She closed it gently, running her fingers along the edge of the page.

This wasn’t just a job.

It was responsibility.

And she intended to do it in a way that left no room for doubt.

Hailley had been very busy in the afternoon, but being tired made her feel useful, she didn't need to spend the days wondering whether she was a burden to her family. Working.

Looking at the quiet hall, Hailley lowered her head, slightly twisting her wrist to look at her watch ,she saw that it was already 2:10 PM, she didn't think anyone would be coming over for lunch anymore. The teachers were probably all busy in class, but she couldn't leave either, her closing time was 4:30 PM. However, she had no intention of leaving at that time, she would stay back and leave with the cooks at 5PM, that was in case an emergency emerged. But she didn't think about being idle either, she was going to use her free time to finish some of her translation work.

She had subscribed in the freelance link and taken a few translation jobs, some she had completed and some were still pending. She didn't receive much payment from it, but it had helped during the days of helplessness, when she had been jobless.

Right, that's how it should be!

Hailley finally closed her personal agenda after organising her schedule for the week.

She stood up and walked to the table close to her counter and sat on the three seat couch, letting her body sink into the couch, her remind crying 'so comfortable ' She knew from that moment that this was definitely going to become her best spot on the canteen, Good that not many people loved this inconspiciouse corner . Looking at her laptop in front of her, Hailley’s mind drifted back to the months before this job — the quiet, uncertain days that had stretched endlessly before her.

On the surface, she hadn’t been completely idle. She had taken up freelance translation work — small assignments sent through messages or email, documents that needed converting from one language to another. It wasn’t steady. It wasn’t glamorous. And it certainly didn’t pay much.

But it had saved her dignity.

When people asked what she was doing, she could answer, “I translate.” It sounded purposeful. It sounded professional. It filled the uncomfortable silence that followed the word unemployed.

She remembered sitting at the small table in the inner parlour late at night, her laptop open, dictionaries and notes scattered around her. The house would be quieter then — only the hum of distant conversation from her parents’ room, or the faint noise of a television left on. She would read carefully, line by line, making sure every word carried the right tone, the right weight.

Translation demanded patience. Precision. Sensitivity to meaning.

In a way, it suited her.

Even when the payment was small — sometimes almost discouragingly small — there was satisfaction in completing a task and sending it back polished. In seeing language bend accurately under her attention. It made her feel capable. Skilled. Needed.

Yet she had always wished it could be more.

More consistent, more rewarding, and more financially stable.

Now that she had the cashier job, the financial pressure had eased slightly. She woke up with somewhere to go. She earned something predictable. But deep inside, she still didn’t want to abandon translation.

It wasn’t about the money.

It was about identity.

The cashier job grounded her in routine. The translation work reminded her of her intellect.

And sometimes, as she neatly recorded teachers’ signatures in the ledger, she would think about the quiet nights spent choosing the perfect word — about how meaning could change depending on a single sentence structure.

She didn’t want that part of herself to disappear.

Even if it didn’t pay much.

Even if no one saw it.

It had carried her through her most uncertain days, and she wasn’t ready to let it go, at least, not yet. Many in the future when she bevomes so busy that her feet barely had time to rest she would think about it.

Just think about it.

It was still unknown whether she would really give it up, she still quite enjoyed this little task, despite it being strenouse and brain tasking.

While he thoughts were still active, Hailley's hands weren't idle either, she was already typing a few words on her key board, while checking on her phone for words her brain failed to recall or process. She was so busy that she didn't notice that someone had walked up to her.

The afternoon had settled gently into the canteen, golden light spilling through the wide windows and stretching across the tiled floor. Dust particles floated lazily in the glow, and the world seemed slower and softer.

Hailley was bent slightly over her laptop, focused, her slender fingers moving with steady precision. A loose strand of hair had fallen near her cheek, catching the sunlight. The warm glow traced the curve of her profile — her cheekbone, the calm line of her jaw, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. The fitted simplicity of her outfit outlined her figure without effort, the light resting against her like it had chosen her deliberately.

Stephan had stepped in quietly.

He had meant only to order something small, quick and rdinary.

But when his eyes landed on her, he stopped.

For a few seconds — though it felt like far longer — he simply stood there. The afternoon light made her seem almost untouchable. Not in a dramatic way. In a still way. A composed, self-contained beauty that did not ask to be admired yet commanded it effortlessly.

He noticed the way she held her phone, browsing with concentration, her slender delicate fingers lightly tapping on the screen, for a moment he wished he was in the place of that phone, just a fleeting thought. The concentration in her brow. The elegance in something as simple as the way she tapped the phone.

How does she not know? he wondered.

There was something breathtaking about her in that moment — not loud, not theatrical — but quietly overwhelming. The kind of beauty that reveals itself slowly if you look long enough.

He allowed himself to look.

Just for a few seconds.

Seconds that stretched, suspended.

Then, aware of himself, he gently knocked his knuckles against the wooden table, causing a rythmic sound that was neither loud not too low, just enough to call her attention.

The sound cut through the stillness.

Hailley lifted her head abruptly, slightly startled, as if pulled back from a distant place. Her eyes met his — clear, alert, guarded almost instantly.

“Uhn, a lazy graon escaped her throat as she raised her head and looked at the tall figure hovering in front her. She was stunned for a second, but her eyes carried thesame nonchalance of a few days ago, as if nothing could move her. "Good afternoon sir, how may I help you?" she said, straightening in her seat, her voice was composed and neutral. It was a professional tone, but it was precisely that tone he didn't want to hear.

He looked at her with a slight scrutiny, and there was no visible shift in her expression, no softness and no lingering reaction to his presence. If she had been caught off guard, she concealed it within seconds.

“Good afternoon, I would like to make an order, can you please help me record it ?,” he asked, his voice calmer than the thoughts that had just occupied him.

"Sure, just a moment please." Hailley replied politely, closing her laptop she walked back to her counter.

“What would you like to order?” she asked, already reaching for her pen.

He gave his order with no additional conversation, because he knew she probably wouldn't reciprocate.

He just stood there and watched her record it meticulously — date, item, amount — her handwriting steady as ever. She slid the ledger toward him without unnecessary eye contact.

“Please confirm and sign here.”

Her tone was formal, almost distant and efficiently controlled.

There was no warmth beyond courtesy. No invitation hidden in her words.

Stephan signed, aware of how quickly she had returned to her composed rhythm. To her, he was just another staff member making an entry in the system. Another name and another signature added to her ledger, she held nothing but a professional smile, as if not intending to associate with others.

Yet as he handed the ledger back, he stole one more glance at her face in the fading glow of afternoon.

She had already lowered her eyes to the page, focused again and unmoved

And somehow, that quiet coldness drew him in even more.

"Here sir, you can get your order." She passed him the receipt ,which he catefully took without hesitation. Looking at the additional items in his ticket, he smiled gently, giving Hailley an appreciative smile.

"Thanks, you did well." His words stunned Hailley not because he was the first person that complimented her for a job well done, but there seemed to be something in that smile of his that she couldn't fully discern. However, she didn't want to think about it, nodding at Stephan she lowered her head and continued to tidy her ledger, not giving Stephan another glance.

Stephan didn't seem to be bothered by her nonchalance either, holding the receipt in his fingers, he still felt her lingering warmth. His thumb gently rubbed the receipt as if doing so will draw out all the warmth she had left, letting him remember her touch when their hands had accidentally touched. She didn't feel anything, but he felt a pleasant electric current pass through him.

'Hailley William '

He murmured her name in his heart, as if trying to recover every encounter he had with her in the past. He had never spoken to her, because she always seemed to be busy, always rushing somewhere. She would be impatient when guys courted her in the street, not even willing to give them a chance. But she had always been polite in her rejection, just silently concealing her impatience. She didn't have that same impatience while dealing with staffs, but her nonchalance was rather prickly to him.

It didn't take long for Stephan to receive his order, it was fast and effective without further delay. He looked at all the empty sits in the hall, his eyes pausing on the empty sit beside Hailley, however he didn't walk towards the sit beside her, nor the one opposite her. Stephan walked towards the other table opposite Hailley and sat down, taking no initiative to speak to her, occasionally lifting his head to glance at her side profile. In no time he was done with his meal, while Hailley was still busy with her laptop. He wasn't sure what she was keeping her busy, but he didn't think it had anything to do with her job as a cashier.

"Are you getting used to working here?" The sudden low cello like voice startled Hailley who had been fully concentrated. It took her seconds to remember that Stephan had walked in the canteen a few minutes ago and she had been the one who helped him record his order. It also took her a few more seconds to realise that he was sitting not far away from her. Not on her table but the table opposite hers.

She raised her head and her eyes met his calm eyes locked into hers, with a playful smile dancing on his slightly thick lips. His lips were pursed as if he wasn't the one who had just spoken.

Hailley hesitated with doubts in her heart.

"Yes." , she replied dryly, unable to add another sentence, which made it quiet awkward in the silent canteen.

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