Sometimes the worst nights lead to the most unexpected turns.
The rest of the shift passed in a blur.
Marcus's group stayed for another hour, their laughter growing louder and sloppier as the alcohol kept flowing. Without Vanessa there, the dynamic shifted—Marcus became more obnoxious, Blake and Sophie egged him on, and Madison spent most of her time on her phone, clearly annoyed.
Ethan kept his head down and did his job.
When they finally called for the check, Marcus tossed his credit card onto the table without looking at the bill.
"Keep the change," he said, waving dismissively.
Ethan picked up the check folder. The total was $340. Marcus had left $350.
A ten-dollar tip.
For an hour and a half of service.
For a table of ten people.
Ethan said nothing. He processed the payment, returned the card, and watched as the group stumbled toward the exit, still laughing about something.
The door closed behind them.
Ethan stood in the empty section, the noise of the kitchen and remaining customers distant and muffled.
Ten dollars.
He'd served tables of two who'd tipped more than that.
"Hey." Danny appeared beside him, frowning at the receipt in Ethan's hand. "That's it? From a party of ten?"
"Yeah."
Danny swore under his breath. "Rich kids. I'm sorry, man. I'll talk to the owner about adding gratuity for large parties."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. You busted your ass tonight."
Ethan shrugged. "I've had worse."
Danny studied him for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. "Take your break. You've earned it."
Ethan stepped out into the alley behind the restaurant, letting the cool night air hit his face.
It was nearly ten o'clock. The city hummed around him—distant traffic, the bass thump from a bar down the street, the occasional shout of laughter from passersby.
He leaned against the brick wall and closed his eyes.
Ten dollars.
He'd worked through their mockery, their condescension, their casual cruelty—and they'd left him ten dollars.
Because to them, he wasn't a person. He was the help. Invisible. Beneath notice.
Except for Vanessa.
Ethan replayed the moment in his mind—the way she'd stood up, the steel in her voice when she'd defended him.
He's right. You don't know what you're talking about.
Why had she done that? She didn't owe him anything. They'd worked together on one assignment. Exchanged maybe a dozen sentences.
And yet she'd walked out. Left her friends. For him.
It didn't make sense.
People like Vanessa Monroe didn't do things like that for people like him.
His phone buzzed.
Lily: Mom's asking for you. When will you be home?
Ethan checked the time. His shift ended at midnight. Two more hours.
Ethan: Around 12:30. Is she okay?
Lily: Yeah. Just missing you. Also we're out of bread.
Ethan: I'll pick some up on the way home.
He pocketed his phone and pushed off the wall. Break was over.
The restaurant had emptied out by eleven. Only a handful of tables remained, and the kitchen had slowed to a steady hum. Ethan bussed tables, refilled drinks, and counted down the minutes until closing.
At 11:47, the door opened.
Ethan glanced up—and froze.
Vanessa Monroe stood in the doorway.
She looked different than she had earlier. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she'd changed into jeans and a simple sweater. No designer handbag. No polished perfection.
She looked... normal.
And exhausted.
She spotted him immediately and walked over.
"Hi," she said.
Ethan stared. "Hi."
An awkward silence stretched between them.
"I—" Vanessa started, then stopped. "Can we talk?"
"I'm working."
"I know. I just..." She glanced around the near-empty restaurant. "It'll only take a minute."
Ethan looked toward the kitchen. Danny was nowhere in sight, probably doing end-of-night inventory.
"Okay," he said quietly.
Vanessa gestured toward an empty booth near the window. "Can we sit?"
They sat across from each other, the table between them feeling like a chasm.
Vanessa folded her hands on the table, staring at them. "I wanted to apologize. For earlier. For Marcus and the others."
"You don't need to apologize for them."
"I know, but—" She looked up, and there was genuine distress in her eyes. "They were horrible to you. And I just sat there for most of it. I should've said something sooner."
"Why did you say something at all?"
The question seemed to catch her off guard. "What?"
"You didn't have to defend me," Ethan said. "You could've just stayed quiet. Left with them. It would've been easier."
Vanessa's jaw tightened. "Is that what you think? That I should've just... let them treat you like that?"
"I'm used to it."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"I didn't say it was okay. I'm just saying you don't owe me anything."
"I know I don't." Her voice rose slightly. "But that doesn't mean I should just sit there and watch people be cruel."
Ethan studied her. She looked genuinely upset—not the polished, composed Vanessa Monroe from campus, but someone raw and frustrated and maybe a little angry.
"Why'd you come back?" he asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"You left. You could've gone home. Why come back here?"
Vanessa hesitated. "I... I don't know. I just—" She exhaled sharply. "I felt terrible. About the whole night. About how they treated you. About how I didn't do enough."
"You did more than anyone else."
"That's a pretty low bar."
Despite everything, Ethan almost smiled.
Vanessa noticed. "What?"
"Nothing. Just..." He shook his head. "I didn't expect you to care."
"Why not?"
"Because people like you don't usually care about people like me."
The words hung in the air between them.
Vanessa's expression shifted—hurt, maybe, or something close to it. "You don't know me."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't." Her voice was quiet but firm. "You know my last name. You know I have money. You know I hang out with people who are..." She trailed off, searching for the word. "Difficult. But you don't know me."
Ethan said nothing.
Vanessa leaned forward slightly. "I'm not like them, Ethan. I don't think the things they think. I don't... I don't look down on you."
"Then why do you hang out with them?"
The question was out before he could stop it.
Vanessa sat back, her expression closing off. "It's complicated."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
They stared at each other.
Finally, Vanessa stood. "I should go. I just wanted to... I don't know. Say I'm sorry, I guess."
"You don't have to be sorry."
"Maybe not. But I am anyway." She pulled her purse onto her shoulder. "I'll see you in class."
She turned to leave—
"Vanessa."
She stopped, looking back.
"Thank you," Ethan said. "For what you said. To Marcus."
Her expression softened. "You're welcome."
And then she was gone.
By the time Ethan clocked out at 12:15, his body ached and his mind was a mess.
He stopped at a convenience store on the way to the bus stop, picking up a loaf of bread and a carton of milk. The total came to $6.47. He paid in cash and pocketed the receipt.
The bus was nearly empty. Ethan sat near the back, staring out the window at the city sliding past.
Vanessa's words echoed in his mind.
You don't know me.
Maybe he didn't.
But she didn't know him either.
She didn't know what it was like to count every dollar, to work until your feet bled, to lie awake at night doing mental math about bills and medication and whether you could afford to replace your worn-out shoes.
She didn't know what it was like to be invisible.
And yet...
I don't look down on you.
She'd said it with such conviction. Like she meant it.
Ethan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window.
He didn't know what to do with any of this.
The apartment was dark when he got home. He set the bread and milk in the kitchen, kicked off his shoes, and padded quietly down the hallway.
His mother's door was cracked open. He peeked inside.
She was asleep, her breathing steady and even. The medication bottles sat on her nightstand, along with a half-empty glass of water.
Ethan stood there for a moment, just watching her.
She looked small in the bed. Fragile. But peaceful.
That was enough.
He closed the door gently and headed to his own room.
Lily had left a note on his desk.
Mom had a good day. She smiled a lot. Also, you're the best. Don't forget that. – L
Ethan set the note aside and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing.
Tomorrow, he'd wake up. Go to class. Pretend tonight hadn't happened.
And Vanessa Monroe would go back to being untouchable.
That's how it had to be.
Even if, for just a moment tonight, it had felt like maybe—just maybe—the divide between their worlds wasn't as wide as he'd thought.
Across the city, Vanessa sat in her bedroom, staring at her phone.
The group chat was blowing up.
Marcus: V, what the hell was that about???
Madison: You seriously left because of the waiter?
Blake: That was so awkward lol
Sophie: Can we just move on? Who's going to Jason's thing on Friday?
Vanessa didn't respond.
She opened a different app, typed something into the search bar, then stopped.
What was she even looking for?
She closed the app and tossed her phone onto the bed.
Her father's voice drifted up from downstairs—he was on a call, as usual. Business never stopped. Not for him.
Vanessa lay back against her pillows and stared at the ceiling.
She kept seeing Ethan's face. The way he'd looked at Marcus. The quiet dignity in his voice when he'd said, Nothing's been handed to me.
And the way he'd looked at her afterward. Like he couldn't figure her out.
She couldn't figure herself out either.
Why had she gone back to the restaurant? What had she been hoping to accomplish?
She didn't have an answer.
But she knew one thing.
Tomorrow, in Computer Science, she wasn't going to sit with her usual friends.
She was going to sit in the back.
Next to him.