Althea woke to sunlight spilling through her apartment window, the soft morning glow spilling across her small living space. For the past five years, she had been living on her own—far from Ms. Everhart's care, far from the structured routines that had once guided her days. Those years of guidance had given her safety and patience, but leaving had been necessary. She needed to build a life that was entirely her own.
Since then, she had worked countless jobs; server, cashier, clerk, cleaner, anything that would allow her to support herself. Each position had taught her resilience, flexibility, and the quiet satisfaction of earning her own way. They hadn't been glamorous jobs, but they had shown her that she could adapt, persevere, and handle whatever came her way.
Today, however, felt different. She was about to take a step into something entirely new: applying for a barista position at one of the city's most famous cafés. She had never worked in a café before, let alone one known for its elegance and high standards, and the thought made her stomach twist nervously. Over the past few weeks, she had applied to nearly every café she could think of. Most had already closed their doors to new applicants; others had politely turned her away. This opportunity felt like her last realistic chance, and the weight of that thought made her heart race.
Walking through the busy streets, she clutched her folder of resumes, letting the sights and sounds of the city ground her. The smell of fresh pastries and roasted coffee beans mingled with the hum of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians. She found a quiet bench and opened her notebook, jotting down observations—the way the sunlight reflected off the buildings, the rhythm of people passing by, fragments of conversations floating through the air. Writing had become a habit, a way to steady herself whenever nerves threatened to take over.
Then she saw it—a large, elegant café on the corner, its polished wooden façade gleaming in the sunlight. Through the glass windows, patrons sat at marble-topped tables, sipping coffee and chatting quietly. Behind the counter, a gleaming espresso machine hissed and steamed, and pastries were displayed with careful precision. A small sign in the window read: Barista Position Available.
Althea paused. She knew this café's reputation—it was famous, sophisticated, and highly regarded. Working here would be a challenge, demanding both skill and composure. She felt a pang of doubt. What if she wasn't accepted? What if her lack of experience was too obvious in such a refined environment? Most of the other cafés she had applied to had already rejected her. Could she afford to fail here as well?
She took a deep breath, letting the familiar calm of her thoughts settle over her. She had survived, adapted, and grown through five years of independence. She could handle this too.
Stepping inside, she was immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. The soft strains of music played in the background, blending with the hum of conversations and the steady clink of cups. Behind the counter, a woman in a crisp uniform looked up and offered a polite smile.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked.
Althea explained that she had seen the help-wanted sign and wanted to apply. The woman handed her an application, her tone both professional and kind. "Experience helps, but attitude and willingness to learn are more important. This café moves fast and has high standards. Can you keep up?"
Althea nodded, her hands steady as she filled out the form. She had never worked in a café like this, but she had spent the last five years building resilience, learning to adapt, and facing challenges she had never expected. She was ready to learn.
The next morning, she returned for the interview. The manager, tall and serious in his demeanor, asked her about patience, attention to detail, and handling a high-paced environment. Althea admitted she had no barista experience but emphasized her ability to learn quickly and her dedication to giving her best effort.
"Good," he said, a small approving smile crossing his face. "We can use someone eager to learn. Can you start this week?"
"Yes," she said, a mix of relief and pride washing over her.
Althea walked out of the café with her chest light, a small smile tugging at her lips. The offer wasn't just a job—it felt like a doorway to something steadier, something that might finally give her the stability she'd been chasing for years.
That night, she prepared carefully. She ironed her plainest blouse and dark jeans, making sure they looked neat and presentable. She packed her small notebook into her bag, telling herself that no matter how overwhelming things felt tomorrow, she could write her thoughts down to breathe.
By the following week, her first day of training arrived.
The café opened before the city fully stirred, and Althea found herself standing outside its elegant doors while the sun was still low on the horizon. Her palms were damp as she pushed the door open, greeted immediately by the warm hum of machines being prepared and the faint sweetness of pastries baking in the oven.
"Althea?" a woman's voice called.
She turned to see a barista with a neat ponytail and a warm but assessing gaze. The name on her tag read Ysa.
"I'm Ysa, your trainer," she said, stepping forward with a polite smile. "Welcome to your first day."
Althea smiled nervously. "Good morning."
Ysa held out a neatly folded set of clothes. The fabric wasn't just simple—it was elegant, tailored with clean lines and a subtle sheen that reflected the café's refined atmosphere. The black slacks were perfectly cut, the collared shirt crisp white, and the deep espresso-brown apron embroidered with the café's logo looked almost too polished to be worn in a place where coffee might spill.
"This is yours," Ysa said. "Our café takes pride in presentation, so our uniforms reflect that. Go ahead and change—let's see how it fits."
Althea's fingers brushed the fabric as she accepted it. On one hand, she reminded herself it was just a uniform, a necessity for the job. But another part of her—quieter, more tender—felt a flutter in her chest. Holding it was like holding proof that she wasn't just passing through anymore. That maybe, finally, she was stepping into something steady.
When she emerged from the staff room, dressed in her new uniform, the mirror's reflection almost startled her. The clean lines, the polished look—it made her appear sharper, more composed, almost elegant in a way she hadn't seen herself before.
Ysa gave her a slow, approving nod. "Perfect. You look like you belong here already. You'll get your name tag after training, but today you shadow me. Ready?"
Althea tugged at the apron strings, straightened her shoulders, and nodded. "Ready."
Ysa guided Althea behind the counter. "First rule—move with purpose, but don't rush. Customers notice not only the coffee, but how we carry ourselves."
Althea nodded quickly, clutching her small notebook as if it were a lifeline. She scribbled down Move with purpose. Don't rush. Her handwriting was shaky, but the act of writing steadied her breathing.
Ysa glanced at the notebook and gave a small smile. "You write things down? Good. That will help."
"Sometimes I… forget things when I get nervous," Althea admitted, her cheeks warming.
"You'll get used to it. For now, follow me."
Ysa demonstrated each motion with practiced grace: the way she polished the counter until it gleamed, the precise angle she placed cups on the saucer, even the way she folded a cloth over her arm. "It's about presentation," she explained. "Our café isn't just about caffeine—it's about experience."
Althea mimicked her movements, careful and hesitant at first, but Ysa's nods of approval gave her courage.
When the first customer arrived—a man in a sharp suit who ordered a cappuccino—Althea stood just behind Ysa, heart pounding as though she were about to take an exam.
"Good morning," Ysa greeted the man, her voice smooth and steady. She prepared the drink with quick, practiced motions, then leaned slightly toward Althea. "Tomorrow, this will be you. Watch the details."
Althea leaned closer too, absorbing every motion—the way Ysa held the pitcher, how she tilted the cup just so, how her hands were steady even as steam rose around her. It wasn't just skill. It was poise.
When Ysa handed over the drink with a warm smile, the man returned it with one of his own. "Always perfect," he said.
Althea felt a small spark inside her chest. She wanted to be able to do that too—to not just serve, but to make someone's day a little lighter.
As the morning passed, she learned how to stock the pastry display, how to greet regulars, how to refill the sugar jars without spilling a grain. Every task felt small, but Ysa's steady presence made it feel important, even meaningful.
During a brief pause between customers, Ysa handed her a glass of water. "You're doing well for your first day. Nervous?"
Althea let out a small laugh. "Terrified."
"That's good," Ysa said, surprising her. "It means you care. The nerves will fade. What matters is that you stay present."
Althea sipped a water, her heart still racing but her chest lighter. The uniform fit snug against her frame, reminding her with every movement that she belonged to this place now—or at least was beginning to.
By the time the café's morning rush truly began, she wasn't just shadowing anymore. Ysa gestured for her to step forward, to greet the next customer.
Althea's throat went dry, but she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and said, "Good morning, welcome to the café."
And when the customer smiled back, something inside her settled—like maybe this wasn't just a fleeting chance, but the start of something real.
The order was simple—an americano and a croissant. But to Althea, it felt monumental. She repeated the order softly under her breath, making sure she had it right, while her hands trembled faintly as she moved to the register.
Ysa stayed just a step behind her, not intervening, only watching. That silent trust was both terrifying and grounding.
"Anything else with that today?" Althea asked the customer, her voice polite though slightly shaky.
The woman shook her head with a smile.
Althea entered the order carefully, double-checking the buttons before reading the total aloud. She handed over the receipt with both hands, as she'd seen Ysa do, then glanced up just in time to catch the customer's approving nod.
It was small, but it felt like victory.
Behind her, Ysa murmured, "Good. Keep your tone calm like that. Customers come here not just for coffee but for peace. You gave her that."
Althea's chest warmed.
The café doors opened again and again, and soon a stream of customers filled the space. Orders stacked quickly: cappuccinos, iced lattes, pastries, more cappuccinos. The sound of the steamer hissed constantly, the register beeped, the air smelled of espresso and sugar.
Althea felt her nerves coil tighter. The pace was dizzying. She tried to remember each step exactly as Ysa had shown her, but the more she thought, the more her fingers fumbled.
At one point, she nearly overfilled a cup of latte, hot foam spilling over the edge. She gasped, pulling it back, her cheeks heating with shame.
Ysa swooped in smoothly, wiping the saucer and handing it over with such grace the customer hardly noticed. Then she leaned close to Althea, her voice quiet but firm.
"Don't panic. Mistakes happen. What matters is how you recover. Breathe. Focus on the next order."
Althea nodded quickly, forcing air into her lungs. She felt clumsy, unpolished—but she refused to back away.
And slowly, as the rush pressed on, something shifted. Her body began to remember the motions even when her mind stumbled: the way to hold the cup steady, the rhythm of wiping counters between orders, the cadence of saying Good morning, what can I get for you today?
Ysa was never far, stepping in when needed but always letting Althea stand in front, as if she trusted her to grow by doing, not by watching.
By noon, when the last of the morning rush trickled out and the café quieted to a gentler hum, Althea leaned against the counter, exhausted but strangely exhilarated. Her apron was dotted with faint coffee stains, her hands smelled faintly of milk, and her throat was dry from speaking—but her chest was alive with something else.
She had made it through.
Ysa handed her a small plate with a croissant on it. "Break time. You earned it."
Althea blinked. "Did I really do okay?"
Ysa gave her a long look, then a small, approving smile. "You didn't give up. That's more than okay. That's exactly what we need."
Althea sat in the quiet corner of the staff room, tearing off small bites of pastry. Her body was tired, but her heart was steady, almost light. For the first time in years, she felt the faint stirrings of belonging—not borrowed, not temporary, but real.
And as she scribbled a note into her little notebook—Day one: survived, and maybe even a little proud—she knew this was only the beginning.
Althea's short break was over before she even realized it. Ysa tapped her on the shoulder with a gentle but firm smile.
"Come on, rookie. Morning rush is slowing down, but the afternoon and evening rush? That's when the real chaos starts."
Althea brushed the crumbs from her apron and followed her back behind the counter, her stomach a mix of nerves and excitement.
By noon, the café filled with a new wave of energy—office workers spilling in, some in groups, some alone, all looking like they had exactly thirty minutes to get their order, eat, and run. The soft hum of the morning had shifted into a sharper rhythm.
"Remember what I told you," Ysa said as she handed Althea a notepad. "Listen carefully, repeat orders back, and don't be afraid to ask twice. Customers would rather you check than get it wrong."
Althea nodded, gripping the pen like it was her lifeline.
The first few tables were easy—simple lattes, iced teas, a sandwich. But then came a man in a suit with clipped words and an impatient stare.
"Triple shot flat white. Oat milk. Extra hot. Two sugars. And don't burn the milk this time."
Althea's heart skipped. This time? She glanced at Ysa, who mouthed, you got this.
She repeated carefully, "Triple shot flat white, oat milk, extra hot, two sugars. Got it."
The man gave a curt nod. Ysa stepped in, guiding Althea through steaming the milk. Her hands trembled slightly, but when the drink was handed over, the man took a sip, paused, then walked away without complaint.
Althea exhaled in relief.
"See?" Ysa murmured with a smirk. "If they don't complain, that's the highest form of praise."
The rush rolled on, and soon Althea wasn't just shadowing anymore—she was moving with the flow. She wiped tables, carried trays, and even managed her first full drink order alone: a caramel latte with perfect foam. Ysa gave her a discreet thumbs-up from behind the counter.
But not everything went smoothly. At one point, Althea nearly dropped an entire tray of cappuccinos, catching it at the last second with a startled yelp. A group of students giggled, but Ysa just chuckled and said, "Good reflexes, rookie. Just don't make a habit of it."
Althea's heart was still racing, her hands trembling slightly as she set the tray down safely. She gave Ysa a sheepish smile. "I—I didn't spill anything… right?"
Ysa shook her head, smirking. "Not a drop. That's what matters. Mistakes happen, but how you recover—that's what counts."
Althea nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. "Okay… I'll try to be more careful."
The café didn't give her a moment to breathe. Orders kept pouring in, the afternoon and evening rush hitting like a relentless monster—triple espressos, iced lattes, sandwiches to go, and steaming cappuccinos stacked on every tray. Phones rang constantly, the line stretched to the door, and the steamer hissed without pause. Althea's arms ached, her hands trembled, and her mind spun trying to keep up with every custom request.
Ysa moved beside her, calm and steady, offering quick corrections and quiet encouragement, letting Althea handle each task. Even when a foam spill threatened to ruin a drink, she caught it just in time, heart hammering, and pressed on.
By the time the café finally closed at 10:00 p.m. and the last customer had left, Althea was exhausted. Her apron was streaked with coffee stains, her hands smelled faintly of milk, but she had survived the monster rush of the afternoon and evening.
Ysa gave her a tired but approving smile. "You made it through. Tomorrow, you'll be even better."
Althea let out a shaky laugh, relief and pride washing over her. For the first time that day, she felt like she truly belonged.