Amica lay sprawled on the floor as Milan, and the girl slipped out of the diner. She wanted to reach her hand out and scream: “Wait!” but her body was frozen. She couldn’t move.

“What have you done?” Gerald said, rubbing his gray beard. “This is the fifth time you’ve dropped a customer’s order this week!”

“S-sorry, boss,” Amica said. Her senses came back to her. She stood, wiping the remainder of the salad off her apron. “But I must go after him.” She cringed internally the second those words escaped from her mouth. She had said her thoughts out loud. Again. “T-to apologize, of course,” she added, in an attempt to save the situation.

“No, you have to take orders.” Amica’s uneasiness went unnoticed by Gerald. Instead, he plunked a pen and notepad in her hand.

“But there aren’t any customers.”

Gerald’s face flushed red. “Do not talk back to me and just do what I say!”

Amica turned her back with a stooped posture. She bit her lip, twirling her hair with a finger. When she first started this job, her boss was a kind man who showed her how everything was done with patience. How to talk to customers, take orders, and radiate happiness even if she was dying inside. He used to smile, too. But not after she kept messing up the orders, spilling food, and never smiled enough at the customers. She couldn’t be the perfect person everyone expected of her. She wasn’t that good at cleaning, either. Or cooking food. Or anything. The only thing she was slightly good at was chemistry. So, she wasn’t cut out for this job, but she had to work. Had to. But… right now, there was something more important. She had to go after Milan. But could she catch up to him now? Her heart did a somersault. She had to tell him that one thing. What if she never got to see him again? This was her only chance.

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She took off her apron.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gerald’s eyebrows knitted together.

Her hands shook as she held up the apron. “I… I quit.”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

Gerald’s eyes flashed. Amica had never seen so many lines on one person’s forehead. “Because you’re fired!” His tone sliced through the air. “Get out of my restaurant.”

Amica let out a steady breath. She slipped five dollars on the counter. “Before I do that, I want to order two hamburgers, please. For takeaway.”

And that was how Amica found herself scuttling through the busy street with a greasy paper bag fluttering in her hand. She swung her head to the left, to the right. But there was no Milan. What was he wearing again? She tried to think back, but it was no use. She’d only seen him for what felt like a second.

Her eyes shifted to a cap resting on the ground in front of the opening of an alleyway. Milan had worn something like this, she thought.

Swinging down the alleyway, she took a sharp turn. She felt a wrench in her body, and someone glued their hand to her mouth.