Five thousand years ago, I harbored a deep hatred toward humans. A hatred so fierce that I wanted to eliminate them discreetly, without any divine gaze perceiving my act. At that time, I was Lucifer… Was it jealousy? Or simply malice? When I think back on my actions, I still wonder if I was just a man consumed by envy, or something far darker.
But today, as Natsa, I realize that humans perhaps don't deserve so much attention. Too weak… Too fleeting. Yet, some among them covet extreme powers, ready to sacrifice everything—even their souls—to achieve it.
What am I saying? Am I losing my mind? Since when do I start to appreciate creations? Seriously… I get carried away too quickly. Even if, it must be admitted, I am not just anyone...
Dring — the doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer.
"Hello, is anyone here?"
The voice echoes through the room. I come out of the kitchen and head toward the entrance. A young blonde woman, dressed in black, is standing there.
I approach gently.
"Hello. How can I help you, miss?"
She looks around the restaurant, a questioning look on her face.
"Isn't this a shop?"
I shake my head.
"No, I'm sorry. This is a restaurant."
She frowns.
"A restaurant, huh? Well, in that case..."
Without waiting, she walks to a table and sits down.
"Do you work here as a cook? Or are you the owner? You look quite young to run a place. How old are you, kid?"
What audacity. This woman is strange, honestly… But out of respect for the chef, I decide to stay calm.
"No, this restaurant isn't mine. I just work here."
She stares at me, clearly unsatisfied with my answer.
"You didn't tell me your age."
"I'm 20…"
Yes, two years have passed since last time. It's vacation, so I wanted to find a job to pass the time... Well, actually, it was Jamila who pushed me to accept. I would never have had the idea on my own.
She insisted so much, and then… it's thanks to her that I was hired here.
"20, huh?" the woman replied while consulting the menu. "Very well, let's see what you serve here."
As she reads the menu, a strange unease tightens my chest. It's as if I forgot something… Something important. And dangerous. A presence, perhaps. I can feel it, it's getting closer.
I can't quite put my finger on it, but my mind races. What could it be?
Dring — the bell rings again.
It's Jamila. Still radiant. She enters, wearing a lovely blue dress, a white hat adorned with a red bow tie perched on top.
She walks over to me, smiling. At a glance, she spots the blonde woman seated at a table.
"So, Natsa, how's it going here?"
I nod.
"So far, it's going pretty well."
"How many customers today?"
"This is the first one."
I point to the woman.
Jamila raises an eyebrow, surprised.
"Are you serious? It's already 4 p.m. and you've only had one customer?"
"As you can see, it's quiet these days. Today is already a blessing… Yesterday, we had no one."
"That must be tough on your patience…"
"More than a little, dear Jamila."
"I've made my choice!!"
The woman shouted, her voice piercing the silence of the restaurant like a knife.
I approach her table, tray in hand, ready to take the order. But her haughty gaze, slouched posture, and above all her casual tone already irritate me.
"Very well," I say calmly. "What would you like?"
She hands me the menu with disdain, as if dealing with a servant.
"I'll have this dish… but no onions, no garlic, no gluten, no sauce. And I want the vegetables cut into diamonds. Not cubes. Diamonds, do you hear me?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"Very well… Anything else?"
"Of course! I want my glass of water lukewarm. Not cold. And definitely not hot. Exactly lukewarm. And I want to be served in ten minutes, no more."
Jamila looks away, visibly uncomfortable. I see her tense up.
The woman then stares me straight in the eyes, as if provoking.
"Did you write everything down or do I need to repeat it slowly?"
I take a deep breath, but I feel anger rising. My hands tremble. This time, it's too much.
"Listen, miss, this is a restaurant, not a palace. If you want a meal customized to the millimeter, you should have called a private caterer. Not just show up here thinking everything is owed to you."
She snaps her fingers.
"Oh! The waiter thinks he's a philosopher now? You think you impress me with your superior look and deep voice? You're just a rude kid!"
"And you, you're a toxic customer! Even the demons from my past had more manners than you!"
"WHAT?!"
"YOU HEARD ME VERY WELL."
"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!"
That powerful voice cracks like thunder. Silence falls immediately. The chef has just entered the room.
Tall, muscular, with a stern gaze, his apron still stained with flour. He looked like a general in the kitchen. He looks from the woman, to Jamila, then to me.
"What's all this noise? We could hear you from the kitchen."
Jamila steps forward slowly, uncomfortable.
"It was… a misunderstanding, chef."
But the customer cuts in immediately.
"This boy verbally assaulted me! He insulted me, humiliated me, and now he's almost threatening me! This is unacceptable!"
I clench my fists.
"Chef, she demands absurd things, talks to me like I'm her dog, and…"
"That's not true! I was just ordering! He's unstable, obviously!"
The chef raises his hand. Silence.
He breathes slowly, the veins in his neck already beating the rhythm.
"Natsa… You're on probation. You know that."
"Chef, she pushed me to the limit! I…"
"Enough."
A long silence. Then the verdict falls.
"You're fired."
Jamila steps back, shocked. I remain frozen. The woman crosses her arms with a triumphant smile.
"But chef…"
"I don't want any scandals here. Go get your things."
I grit my teeth. My throat burns. It's not anger… It's something else. Something deeper. A feeling I hadn't felt for a long time…
Jamila watches me without daring to intervene. Her eyes shine with a sad glow.
I turn on my heels.
But in my head, only one thought echoes, hammers, screams:
This world… This world doesn't deserve my patience.
I walk, hands in pockets, my shirt half-open fluttering gently in the evening breeze. My steps echo in this narrow alley like a tired whisper in a world that never sleeps. The sun slowly descends behind the buildings, setting the sky ablaze with red and gold, like a bleeding scar in the silence.
Jamila walks beside me. Silent. She lowers her eyes, arms hanging, not daring to say a word.
I feel her discomfort. Her hesitation. She wants to speak, but she doubts. She wonders if it's the right moment. I almost hear her breathing through her thoughts.
Then finally…
"Uh… Natsa…"
I don't answer. But I listen. I am here. Present, despite my tangled thoughts.
She continues, her gaze fixed on the pavement.
"This restaurant… maybe it wasn't made for you… That woman really behaved very badly. I'm sorry… I apologize, because… I'm the one who found you this job."
I stop dead. Her step falters, surprised. She turns to me. The setting sun hits my face sideways, lighting my eyes with a glowing red blaze. Her gaze freezes. She says nothing.
Neither do I.
But inside, my thoughts roll like waves.
She tries to do good… Poor thing. She seeks to comfort me… despite everything. She really has a pure soul.
I wonder…
If she learned I was the Devil himself… Would she still look at me with such compassion?
I let out a short breath.
"It's okay, don't worry," I finally say. "Anyway, I didn't like the look of that chef. So whether I'm fired or not… it doesn't bother me. I just thank you for your effort."
Her face lights up with a small sincere smile.
"I'm glad you take things like that. It's funny… We'll try to find you another job!"
I raise an eyebrow.
"Another one? Aren't you tired sometimes?"
She crosses her arms, suddenly determined.
"No matter! I'll rest when you have a proper job!!!"
A small laugh escapes me. I reach out and gently stroke her head, like you would a stubborn little sister.
"Very well. We'll start again tomorrow."
She smiles again, and we resume our walk. Side by side. Like two strangers who tamed each other without meaning to.
I look at the sky. The last light of day slowly fades. Shadows lengthen.
No matter what I think I forgot… Sooner or later, it will come back to me.
And there, as night falls, I lift my eyes toward the moon.
But it's not an ordinary moon.
It's an eye.
A huge pale eye, hollowed out in white light, watching the world from the heavens. Immutable. Silent. Worried.
And I feel it. I know it.
It's looking at me.
It recognizes me.