Not So Out Of Reach

Chapter 1 : The Buzzing Café

I take a deep breath as I balance the tray in my hands, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the hum of conversation in the air. It’s one of those afternoons at the café, the kind where everyone decides to stop by for a cup of something warm, a chat, or maybe just to escape the outside world for a moment. The place is packed, buzzing with life, but not so much that it’s overwhelming—just hectic enough to keep me on my toes.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” I mutter as I navigate through the crowd, squeezing between tables, careful not to bump into anyone. My voice is soft but firm; I've gotten good at this—moving through people without causing a scene, without spilling anything. I’m not some expert waitress, but I know how to keep things flowing. The tray wobbles slightly, and I adjust my grip, forcing myself to keep my cool. It’s just part of the job.

The voices around me blend into a constant murmur, like the city itself is talking through these people. Cups clink against saucers, chairs scrape against the floor as people shift and settle in. Someone laughs loudly from the corner, a deep, booming sound that cuts through the din. I can hear snippets of conversations: someone discussing a class they’re failing, another person talking about a date gone wrong, the soft coo of a baby from the table by the window. It’s like every kind of life is playing out in this café at once, and I’m right in the middle of it.

I reach table seven—two women chatting over lattes. One has a laptop open, typing away in between sips. I recognize them; they come here often. Regulars, like a lot of people around here. They smile as I place their food down, and I offer them a quick, practiced smile in return. It’s a dance we all know too well.

“Enjoy,” I say, already moving toward the next table.

Being a college student and working here can be… a lot. Most days, I leave campus and come straight here, switching from thinking about assignments and exams to remembering orders and table numbers. But I don’t mind it. There’s something about the rhythm of it all—the movement, the constant flow of people—that I’ve come to enjoy. It’s almost like a break from the grind of studying. Here, I’m just Winnie, the girl with the apron and the tray, weaving through the chatter and the chaos.

As I make my way back to the counter, I spot a couple in the corner waving at me. They’ve been waiting for their drinks for a while. I raise a hand to let them know I see them, offering a quick nod.

“Be right there,” I call out, my voice cutting through the chatter, just enough to be heard. I flash them another smile, then hurry behind the counter to grab their drinks.

It’s busy, yeah, but it’s manageable. I like the challenge. The balancing act. This café? It’s a small world in itself, and for now, I’m the one helping to keep it spinning.

~~~~~~~~

The café has finally simmered down, the hum of voices now a distant echo, replaced by the occasional clink of a mug as I wipe down the tables. It’s quiet now. Peaceful. The sunlight slants through the windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor. Outside, the city seems to breathe, cars rolling by in a lazy rhythm. It’s one of those afternoons where everything just seems to slow down.

I should be relieved. After the craziness of the shift, most people would be happy for this lull. But of course, Grace and Jordan are still here, lounging behind the counter, laughing about something that has nothing to do with work.

I glance over at them, shaking my head as I continue wiping the table. They’ve barely lifted a finger all day. And now? They’re getting ready to leave, like they always do, leaving the rest of us—well, me—to clean up.

“Hey, Winnie,” Grace calls out, her voice thick with that fake sweetness she always uses when she’s about to be nasty. “You don’t mind finishing up here, do you? Jordan and I are going to grab lunch.”