She plugs her headphones in and leans into her palms. Elbows resting comfortably on the counter she hums to the smooth sounds of Mac Miller on her playlist. As she stares off into space, she dreams of how she would need to land on a proper desk job which complements her qualifications, which she worked so hard to obtain. Four years of university did not prepare her for a job at one of her dad’s juice cafes.

She glances over to the wall clock. 12.34pm. The lunch crowd should be in soon. It’s still early, she thought and thanks her lucky stars that the café is barren for now.

She grumbles softly, then quickly straightens her apron and removes her headphones, as a tall figure walks in. The same figure, for the umpteenth time that week has decided that this was a convenient place for him to park his fine tush on one of the bar stools in this very quaint juice café. Standing at 180cm, he walks straight at her, as if they’ve been acquainted many times before (but really never) and she blurts out.

“One starfruit-lychee smoothie, medium, to-go?”

He smiles his most heart-stabbing smiles, she blinks clearing , and he nods with a smirk. That boyish, perfect smile sends some unknown chemical down her spine as she eases the crumples on her shirt and walks to the juicer.

The fine tush then sits himself comfortably on the nearest bar stool next to the cashier and takes his phone out of his back pocket. He swipes his screen, smiles again and lays the phone on the counter. She fiddles with the juicer and presses the blend button. At the corner of her eye, she tries not to take notice of this seemingly charming customer who has sat at this same stool, every day now, for the past 5 weeks since she’s been on this shift. This must be my only reward working here, she thought. Since the pay was measly and the hours were crappy.