Rain poured heavily.
Ayla stood barefoot in the kitchen, the tiles cold beneath her feet. Her hands were deep in soapy water. Lost in thought, she scrubbed dishes while the storm outside hummed its kind of grief.
Her aunt's voice tore through the silence behind her.
"What's taking you so damn long? Are you trying to break the whole kitchen?"
The plate slipped. Not enough to shatter, just a little crack and chipped edges.
Ayla's breath hitched.
Not from fear, but from knowing what would follow.
The slap landed hard. Her originally fair cheek flamed red.
"Ungrateful little stray," her aunt muttered, storming out of the room.
She didn't flinch anymore. She just stood there, blinking.
Staring at the crack in the plate like it mattered.
Like it meant something.
Ayla didn't speak unless spoken to.
She moved like background noise, quiet, forgettable.
Her uncle pretended she didn't exist, unless it was to bark orders or grunt at her to get out of the way.
Her cousin looked at her like a thing, useless and unworthy.
She hated the silence.
But it was safer than screaming.
That morning, she walked to work in the rain. No umbrella. No coat. Just her oversized cardigan and a soaked pair of shoes that squeaked with every step.
The café was already busy when she arrived, and the usual noise of people interacting
Then the door opened, and something shifted.
He stepped in like the boss that he is. Tall, Sharp lines, Black suit, black gloves, you could see the raindrops on his shoulders. He walked like nothing mattered and he moved like the world had been built around him, not the other way around.
He didn't even look at the menu nor did he notice the pastries lined neatly behind the glass
Just stood there.
Waiting.
Ayla wiped her hands and moved to the counter. Her voice was soft.
"Good morning. What can I get you?"
The man didn't answer right away.
He just looked at her.
Not in the way men looked when they were trying to be charming a different type of gaze
Like he was… measuring something.
Not her appearance, not her smile.
Something beneath all that.
His eyes were cold. Not harsh just completely empty. Like warmth wasn't something he ever learned, or maybe forgot on purpose.
"Coffee," he said at last. One word sharp like he didn't have the energy or the interest for anything more.
She nodded.
Poured.
Didn't ask about milk or sugar. He didn't look like someone who tolerated softness.
When she set the cup on the counter, his gloved hand reached for it then paused.
A business card slid across to her instead.
White. Clean. No logo. Just a name in black letters, ''Liam Cross''.
She looked up and he was already walking away ''Who is this man''she thought to herself.
Back at home..
The door creaked as she stepped inside.
The air smelled like damp clothes and whatever her aunt had burned for dinner.
The hallway light buzzed low above her, casting a dull glow over the peeling wallpaper.
"Look who finally decided to show up," her uncle grunted from the couch, feet on the table, beer in hand.
"She's probably out pretending she's better than us now," her cousin muttered without looking up from her phone.
"You think just 'cause you've got a job, you can come and go whenever?" her aunt added sharply, arms crossed. "Wipe your feet before you drag mud into this house."
"Sorry," Ayla said quietly.
"Sorry doesn't dry the floor," her aunt snapped. "And while you're at it, clean the dishes from lunch. You still live here, don't forget that."
Ayla nodded and went straight to the sink. Her cardigan was still damp, her hands still raw from hours of work, but no one cared enough to notice
She kept her head down doing the chores that were her life. Just a maid in her aunt's house with no hope for the future
But tonight, she held something they didn't know about.
Something small. Quiet.
And hers.
That night, she tucked the card under her pillow, she didn't know why.
He hadn't smiled he hadn't said anything kind. Hadn't asked if she was okay.
He hadn't offered anything.
But still, he had seen her.
And in a world where most people didn't even notice her that was enough to make her wonder.
The rain returned after midnight.
Ayla curled up on the mattress, holding the card tightly like it was some sort of treasure that must not be misplaced.
She didn't know why it felt different. Maybe it was just the way the card looked it looked too clean, too sharp for a place like her room
But something about it made her stop.
It felt like more than just paper.
Like whatever was on it might matter.
Not in a big, life-changing kind of way… but maybe just enough.
Enough to shift something.
Enough to feel like a start.