The city didn't stop moving, not even for a girl drowning in her own life.
Raya moved through the morning in a daze, her shoes barely lifting off the pavement. She tightened the straps of her apron as she stepped behind the counter of the café—the same one she opened four days a week at dawn, but today she had her shift for brunch. She had already missed one shift today. Her manager gave her a nod, but even that felt distant.
"Morning," someone said from the back.
She forced a smile and nodded in return, her eyes already on the espresso machine. Her hands worked mechanically—grind, tamp, steam—but her mind was elsewhere.
Her phone buzzed against her thigh.
She didn't check it.
She knew it was him. Her father.
Probably another voicemail.
Probably crying.
Probably asking her to fix the unfixable. To fix something he couldn't fix either.
Should she just forsake him like Anna said?
She wished she could, but she couldn't stomach it. That man was her father. Not the best, but he was there even when her mother left. He was there when she needed him back then as a child.
She took a breath and pressed the cappuccino lid a little too hard until foam spilled over the side.
"Hey," her co-worker Tilly whispered, glancing at her. "You good?"
Raya nodded once. "Yeah. Just didn't sleep well last night."
Not a lie. Not the whole truth.
The line of customers never ended. By noon, her fingers were raw from the heat of the machines and constant motion. She left the café with her hair sticking to her temples, the smell of coffee clinging to her clothes like something permanent.
---
Next, she met herself at the bookstore.
Small, quiet, dusty.
Raya shelved new arrivals with a distant focus, each book spine like a ghost brushing her fingers. A regular customer, an old man with a cane, gave her a warm smile as she helped him find a novel.
"You always remember what I like," he said.
She smiled faintly. "It's the only thing I don't forget lately."
Her phone buzzed again in her apron pocket.
Another missed call.
This time, followed by a voicemail.
She didn't listen.
She couldn't listen to it.
She moved to the back room, dusting off stacks of paperbacks and fighting the ache behind her eyes.
---
Afternoon sun hit hard.
She was sweating under her t-shirt as she showed up at the film set, this time as a last-minute stand-in for a stunt.
A safety harness. A fake rooftop. A short fall onto padding.
Easy—at least, that's what they said.
"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" the assistant director asked.
Raya nodded. "Just tell me when." At least this isn't some slap scene… she almost needed an impairment last time she was slapped.
A countdown. A fall. Her knees slammed the pad harder than expected. Her breath knocked out of her.
They called 'cut.' She gave a thumbs-up.
But as she walked off set, her vision blurred for a moment, and she nearly stumbled.
No one noticed.
She sat on a crate, trying not to cry from exhaustion. Her phone buzzed again. This time, she turned it over.
Voicemail.
She closed her eyes.
And pressed play.
"Raya... baby, please... they came again. I told them you were working. I told them you're trying. But they said tomorrow… Raya, I don't know what to do. Please, baby… I'm so sorry… but please find the money."
Find the money?
Where?
Where does the man expect her to find the money?
Even if she decided to sell herself to a man, which man would offer her 700,000?
No man would think she's worth it, especially not with her novice skill in bed. Aside from the man three years ago, she hasn't been touched by another.
Her throat tightened.
She deleted it and wiped her eyes roughly.
If Adrian were to call her again, she would jump at the offer this time around without a second thought.
If only, but it seems this luck is gone for good.
---
Night came.
She changed in a bathroom stall—pulled on her bar uniform, applied lip gloss to cover how pale she looked.
The bar was loud. Crowded. Sticky floors, too many voices.
She carried a tray through packed tables, weaving between groups, fake laughing at customers' jokes, dodging unwanted touches with practiced ease.
She dropped drinks at a table, nodded politely.
Another table waved. Another order.
Her hands trembled as she reached for a glass.
When she turned, a man caught her eye from across the room.
He wasn't like the others. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't drunk.
He was watching her.
Quiet. Still.
Something about his stare sent a prickle up her spine.
Raya blinked.
Turned away. He doesn't worth it.
Kept walking and doing her job.
---
The cool night air hit Raya the moment she stepped out of the bar, her breath fogging slightly as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. Her feet ached. Her head pounded. The only thing she wanted was her bed.
But then she saw him.
Leon.
He had been looking at her like a creep from the bar. But she didn't have the strength to argue with anyone tonight.
Leon leaning against his shiny grey car like he was in a movie. Arms crossed. A smug look resting on his face.
She didn't slow or even look at him once.
She walked right past him.
"Didn't you see me?" he said, grabbing her wrist.
Raya turned slightly, her eyes dull, voice flat. "I did. But I decided to ignore you."
Leon's expression twisted. "Really? I've been calling you for days. You were the one in the wrong, and I chose to teach you a lesson… and now you're acting like this? Shouldn't you be apologizing to me?"
She stared at him, blinking once, as if trying to decide whether he was serious—or just insane.
"If your way of 'disciplining' your girlfriend is parading another woman in front of her, then I wish you luck with your stupidity," she said quietly. "But I'm too tired to honor your bruised ego."
She moved to walk around him again.
He blocked her path.
"You're my girlfriend, you cheated on me first, I just wanted you to know how it feels," he said, voice sharp like he is trying to defend himself. "And why should I leave you? Next time I call, you better pick up," he commanded.
Raya didn't raise her voice. She didn't flinch. She's too tired to argue with him. What she is going through is far bigger than whatever he's saying to her.
"Leon, I'm done. I already broke up with you right there at that hotel room. You and I? We're nothing now. And there's no 'next time.'"
His jaw clenched. "You can't just—"
"If you follow me one more time," she cut in, her voice colder now, sharper, "I'm calling the police."
Leon stared at her, stunned. She seemed dead serious. And he knew his Raya didn't make empty promises, especially when she's angry.
But Raya didn't wait for him to speak.
She walked away.
And this time, he didn't follow.
She will come around. She just needs time. The hotel scene must have broken her, which means she cared.
He smiled after feeding his ego enough and went back to his car and drove off.
Raya is his… his to conquer.
---
Raya was barely two blocks away from Leon when her phone buzzed again.
Her stomach twisted. Another missed call from her dad?
But no.
It was Maya, the part-time manager from the coffee shop.
She had missed her call, so she texted her then.
"Hey, I know this is super last minute, but Clara just called in sick. Can you cover her shift? Just three hours, I swear. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent."
Raya stared at the screen for a long second.
She was exhausted. Mentally wrecked. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest.
But she looked up at the sky, swallowed hard, and typed back:
"I'm on my way."
---
The bell above the café door jingled softly as the final customer stepped out into the night. The place was nearly empty now, save for the quiet hum of machines and the soft jazz playing overhead. Raya wiped down the last table, her hands moving in automatic circles while her eyes remained distant.
"Thanks again," the older woman near the counter called gently, clutching her to-go cup.
Raya turned, forcing a smile so bright it nearly reached her eyes. "Of course. Have a good night."
The woman nodded and left, the door swinging shut behind her.
The smile dropped the second her back turned.
Raya exhaled slowly and leaned against the counter, fingers digging into the edge of the laminate as if it could keep her upright. Her shoulders sagged. Her apron suddenly felt too heavy.
She checked the time. Almost midnight.
And she hadn't eaten anything but a sandwich since morning.
If she goes on like this, won't she die before the loan shark comes to them?