My Mary Jane Shoes

The Louisiana sun beats down as you chase after the local bus, the red dirt splashing under your Mary Jane shoes. You're running late for your shift at Nubia's Soul House, the only place that feels somewhat stable in your life. Boarding the bus, you pull out your work uniform, the familiar yellow cursive logo 'Nubia's Soul House' a small comfort.

At the restaurant, the usual chaos of the lunch rush is underway. Your coworker, Ines, greets you with a knowing look, teasing you about your tardiness. But your attention is immediately drawn to the back booth by the window, where he sits – the mysterious customer, dressed in a sharp suit, a fascinating enigma you've admired from afar for months. He's here again, looking as captivating as ever, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing in your life.