Over the next few weeks, Henry came to the café almost every day. They exchanged pleasantries at first, but gradually, their conversations grew longer, more personal. Henry would ask about her day, and Maya would tell him about her life as though it were no big deal. She was used to not being important to anyone.
But Henry made her feel like she mattered.
One rainy afternoon, as she was wiping down a table, Henry sat down beside her, his wet hair clinging to his forehead.
"You know," he said, running a hand through his hair, "there's more to life than this café, Maya."
She smiled softly. "Yeah, maybe. But it's honest work. What about you? What's it like to live in a world where everything is handed to you?"
He laughed, but there was a sadness in it. "Not as great as it sounds. Sometimes I wonder if people see me or just my last name."
That hit Maya harder than she expected. She had always assumed people like Henry were untouchable, living in a world of privilege where everything came easy.
"Don't let the world define who you are, Henry," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You don't need to live up to anyone's expectations."
He looked at her, his gaze softening. "I think I could learn something from you, Maya."