Vansh surveyed the familiar surroundings; his heart swelled with contentment. His mind remained completely occupied with the memory of the café's scenery. No matter how much he tried to focus on anything else, the image refused to leave him. The ambience alone was enough to captivate anyone who stepped inside.
Beside every seat stood a tall window, and along each window ledge grew strands of money plants. Their green vines gently trailed across the sill, some curling toward the glass as if trying to chase the sunlight. Every table had its own window, allowing warm rays of morning light to spill across the wooden surfaces, painting the café in soft golden hues.
Even before opening time, Vansh noticed a few people already waiting outside. Their silhouettes lingered near the entrance, glancing through the glass with quiet curiosity.
He stepped toward the counter and rang the small bell.
A faint voice answered from inside.
"Okay, go ahead."
Taking a quiet breath, Vansh adjusted the strap around his wrist and straightened the apron tied around his waist. It was a small habit of his—one last moment of preparation before the day began.
When he pushed open the café door, the strings of small bells hanging above it chimed brightly, their gentle ringing announcing the start of the day's business.
Outside stood a couple, waiting patiently.
Without a word, Vansh reached for the wooden board hanging beside the door and flipped it from "Closed" to "Open." Then he stepped aside, holding the door for them with a polite nod before guiding them inside.
The moment they entered, even the customers seemed to pause. The calm warmth of the café wrapped around them almost instantly, easing the tension from their shoulders.
Vansh led them toward one of the window seats.
At every table, a menu card was neatly clipped at the edge of the wooden surface, waiting for the customers to pick it up and explore what the café had to offer.
Vansh stood quietly beside the table, the soft evening light from the window falling across his uniform. The café staff uniform was simple, yet carried a clean elegance that suited the calm atmosphere of the place.
He wore a fitted black shirt with neatly pressed sleeves rolled just below the elbows. A slim dark-brown neck ribbon replaced the usual tie, hanging loosely in a relaxed knot at his collar. The shirt's subtle pleated lines ran down the front, giving it a refined look without appearing overly formal.
Around his waist rested a deep brown apron tied firmly at the back. The fabric looked durable but soft, designed for long hours of work. A small pocket sat neatly at the front—just enough to hold the essentials a waiter might need during the evening.
Vansh guided the couple to their seats and gestured toward the menu clipped neatly at the edge of the table.
"You can take your time," he said politely. "Whenever you're ready, please place your order at the counter."
He gave a small nod and turned to leave.
"Actually—"
The man at the table stopped him.
"We need some suggestions… if that's okay?"
Vansh paused mid-step and turned back. Without hesitation, he reached for the menu from the man's hand and stepped closer to the table. Sliding a pen out from the pocket of his apron, he opened the menu slightly as if preparing to highlight certain items.
"Well," he began calmly, "our coffee selections are quite popular."
He pointed lightly at a section of the page.
"We offer several types of lattes, cappuccinos, and cold brews. If you prefer something refreshing, we also have fruit smoothies."
He moved the pen slightly lower.
"For snacks, our cookies and doughnuts pair well with most of the coffees. We also have a few speciality pastries that were baked this morning."
The couple listened with surprising focus. Vansh spoke clearly and naturally, explaining each item without rushing, as if he had done it hundreds of times before. Yet there was something about the way he spoke—calm, confident, and slightly thoughtful—that made it feel less like a sales pitch and more like a friendly recommendation.
After a moment, Vansh closed the menu halfway and said,
"For starters, I would suggest a latte for both of you… and perhaps a small plate of cookies. They go well together."
The couple exchanged a glance, still slightly absorbed in his explanation.
"Alright," the man said with a small laugh. "Let's go with that."
Vansh nodded and gestured toward the counter.
"You can place the order there."
The man stood up and walked with him toward the counter, while the woman remained seated.
For a brief moment, she watched Vansh quietly. The man beside her was handsome, no doubt—but Vansh carried a different kind of presence. Something calm and confident about him made him stand out in his own way.
At the counter, Vansh quickly entered the order into the system and printed the receipt.
He handed it to the man and then pointed toward a small wooden stand nearby.
"You can take one of those number stands," he said.
On the counter sat two types of wooden tokens used by the café.
The rectangular wooden stands with numbers were meant for customers who planned to stay and enjoy their coffee at the table.
Beside them was a tray filled with small circular wooden tokens carved with tiny cat faces and numbers. Those were used for takeaway orders. When their order was ready, Vansh would call out the number, and the customer would return the wooden token when collecting their drink.
The man picked up a numbered wooden stand before returning to the table.
The man was about to turn away, but his attention was caught by Kiri, who was deep in her own slumber. A woman approached the cat and asked Vansh, "Excuse me, can I pet her?" Vansh glanced at Kiri and thought she wouldn't mind since she was already the centre of attention in the cafe; many customers often talked about her.
The woman slowly and gently brushed Kiri's fur, causing the cat to twitch her ears. Moved by the gesture, the woman was momentarily distracted until the man called her, and they both returned to their respective tables.
Vansh then entered the kitchen, where he found his aunt hurriedly preparing cookies and other baked goods. Some items were missing from the counter, making it look empty and odd, so she was rushing to refill them.
"I'm busy with this, so why don't you go ahead and place the order? You've got this now."
Vansh didn't bother looking up; he simply nodded, a silent acknowledgement that he had anticipated those words. The printed order slip floated down onto the counter, almost like a gentle reminder of the task at hand. He reached for the jar of coffee beans, the glass clinking softly as he pulled it from the shelf. There was a familiar rustle of beans as he measured them out, his movements smooth and almost automatic, as if he were in a dance he knew by heart.
The quiet buzz of the grinder filled the small café, a comforting sound in the lull of chatter. He poured the freshly ground coffee into the portafilter, the rich, dark grains settling perfectly. With a practised gesture, he levelled the coffee, pressing it down just enough to ensure a perfect extraction, then locked it into the machine with a small twist of his wrist.
As the espresso began to flow, it started slow, almost hesitant—then gathered momentum. A deep, rich stream poured into the cup below, a thin layer of golden crema forming on the surface, carrying that comforting, bittersweet aroma into the air.
Without skipping a beat, he reached for the cold milk, watching it swirl as it poured into the stainless-steel pitcher. He positioned it under the steam wand, lowering it until he heard the soft hiss of steam. The gentle sound of tsshh… tsshh… filled the space, as air mixed with the milk, creating that frothy texture he loved. He adjusted the pitcher's depth, letting the hiss smooth out, the milk heating nicely.
It warmed his palm, almost too hot to hold for long, but he kept it there, savouring the moment until it felt just right. With a quick tap against the counter—once, twice—he released the steam. A little swirl turned the froth glossy and smooth, resembling silk glistening under the café lights.
Finally, he picked up the cup, his heart racing just a bit with anticipation. He started pouring the milk from a height, letting a thin stream sink beneath the crema and blend the two. He watched as the colour shifted, dark hues melting into a warm brown.
As he lowered the pitcher, he could see the white foam start to rise, filling the space above the espresso. His hand was steady, guiding the flow with careful precision. A slight shift—left, then right—before making a smooth pull through the centre, creating a delicate design.
When he finished, the surface of the drink stilled, revealing a soft, clean heart resting elegantly on top. In that simple moment, it was more than just coffee—it was a small piece of art, crafted with care.
Place both cups on the tray, accompanied by a small ceramic plate with a cookie and a napkin. He took the tray and brought it to their table.
The customers took their first sip of coffee and were impressed by the flavour.
The girl's eyes lit up almost instantly, a soft smile forming as she took another sip, this time without hesitation. The guy let out a small nod of approval, clearly impressed, though less expressive.
Vansh noticed.
He always did.
The guy seemed particularly enthusiastic about the café and the coffee. Soon, customers began to arrive slowly, even though Aunt had finished restocking the counter trays.
The café was located in a quiet area, perhaps in a deep colony, but close to some corporate offices, making it a relaxing spot for workers to enjoy coffee and their favourite drinks after a long day. Who wouldn't appreciate that? Everyone surely would.
Vansh and his aunt, a dynamic duo running the café, operated like a well-oiled machine. Vansh took all the orders and printed the receipts, passing them to his aunt, who prepared drinks using the espresso machine and her special techniques.
He is placing the cookies. Adding the doughnuts. Small details, but never overlooked.
Because in a place like this…
It was never just about the coffee.
The dynamic duo engine was slowly winding down, thanking the last customer for visiting. Vansh settled onto the sofa while Aunt stepped outside to bring in the daily special board, flipping the wooden board on the door from "Open" to "Closed." As he watched the counter, he noticed that only a few items remained. He felt a sense of satisfaction seeing that some of the items were sold out. Aunt returned, closed the door behind her, and placed the board to the side.
"You were a great help today," she said, feeling proud to be a reliable presence of his in the café.
"Of course! You should appreciate it every time. I mean, who would even want to work here? The posters across the road are tattered, some even torn in half. They've all been ignored, and no one seems interested. It's deeper in the colony, and the workload would be heavy for some," he complained about the challenging situation. "Plus, your doodle is just ridiculous. Who would come here? You really should appreciate it."
"Yeah, yeah, as if. My old employee had to move to another city. If she hadn't, she would've been a great help. I wish someone like her would come back."
Vansh slowly stretched his legs towards the sofa's legs, feeling the soft fur brushing against his pants. He knew exactly who it was. "The only attraction of our café is our Kiri, right?" Aunt nodded in agreement.
"After all, she is your cat. You brought her, didn't you?"
Kiri meowed at Vansh, who lifted her so they were face-to-face. She reached out with her paws, trying to touch his face.
"You also think her poster is funny, right, Kiri?" he asked playfully.
"Don't make fun of my art; it's art! Someone will come and appreciate the masterpiece they see," Aunt replied.
"Yeah, for sure. Bet on it," Vansh responded.
Just then, the door opened with the sound of jingling bells. A tall man, approximately six feet with a muscular build, stood at the entrance, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding a rolled-up sheet. He wore a green shirt as an overcoat over a cream t-shirt and black pants, with a shoulder bag slung across his side. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
The young man looked around his mid-20s; he had long hair that brushed against his eyes, but he was well-groomed. Strands on one side of his hair hung sharply and stylishly, while the others slid back smoothly. His hair was smooth and attractive, complemented by sharp, hunter-like eyes, a defined jawline, and a small nose. His veins were visible through his rolled-up sleeves. He held the straps of his bag in one hand and a rolled sheet in the other. He appeared nervous; although he could have easily threatened both of them and robbed them, he didn't. Why? Because some secrets are meant to be kept.
"Sorry, but the café is closed for today," his aunt told him, disappointment evident in her voice.
"Oh no! I'm not a customer; I actually came here for this." He stepped forward and began unrolling the sheet, which turned out to be an employee hiring poster. Vansh stood up, and Kiri moved toward her. When Aunt took the poster in her hands, a brief silence fell over the group. No one spoke or moved. Kiri licked her paws while the young man stood silently, confused by the unexpected quiet.
Finally, his aunt glanced up at him, then at Vansh. Vansh was staring intently at the poster, and they exchanged a long gaze. The young man looked between them, trying to make sense of the situation.
The silence was broken when his aunt suddenly burst into loud, evil laughter, as if a villain had triumphed over the hero. She turned fully towards Vansh, pointed her finger at him, and declared, "Take the trash out now!" He clicked his tongue in annoyance, acknowledging her victory and his defeat in their earlier bet.
The young man was baffled by the scene unfolding before him. He thought to himself, "Am I in the right place? Did I take a wrong turn and enter a place I shouldn't be?" His mind raced with confusion as he watched them.
Finally, his aunt beckoned him over and offered him a seat on one of the sofas. Vansh had already left the scene, and Kiri followed him, anticipating treats.
Once seated, the young man examined his surroundings, admiring the doodles of vines and the café's decor. He still clutched the strap of his bag tightly.
"Sorry for my earlier behaviour," his aunt said, trying to ease his nervousness. "My nephew and I just had a small bet, and as you can see, I won so I couldn't help but laugh. You can relax; this will go well."
He thought to himself, "That laugh was really weird."
"You just thought it was really weird, didn't you?'
He gulped, wondering, "Is she a telepath?"
She then asked him why he was looking for a job. As he loosened his grip on the strap, he opened the buckle and pulled some papers from his bag. His hands trembled with anxiety, and his aunt noticed his distress. Just then, Vansh returned, and she turned to him with a meaningful glance.
"Vansh, could you…?" she gestured, and he understood her request instantly.
Vansh moved towards the counter, bent down, pulled one of the lowest drawers, and took out a packet. It was a pack of cat food, which was rolled and clipped. He turned to Kiri, who looked excited, meowing as she heard the sound of the cat food packet and, of course, smelled it.
Vansh poured the cat food into Kiri's tray, which was in the café for her to eat during breaks. As soon as he poured it, she jumped up and started eating. He gently rubbed her head. Aunt was reading some papers, but the guy was watching Vansh and Kiri.
Vansh stood up without another word and walked toward the kitchen.
His movements were familiar, almost automatic now.
He reached for two cups, setting them down side by side before taking a scoop of freshly ground coffee. The fine powder settled into the cloth filter, and he lifted the kettle, pouring hot water slowly over it. The liquid seeped through at its own pace, darkening as it carried the flavour down into the cups below.
No rush. Just patience.
The aroma rose quietly, filling the space around him.
Once it was done, he set the kettle aside and reached for a small ceramic plate, placing two cookies neatly over a folded napkin. Simple. Clean.
He arranged everything onto the tray—the cups first, then the plate—making sure nothing felt out of place.
Then, without saying anything, he lifted it and made his way back.
He set the coffee and cookies down on the table for both of them. The guy sitting there had been watching him, impressed by his effort. He looked at the coffee and cookies, and Aunt gestured for him to have some. When he took a sip, he felt an immediate surge of energy, and all his anxiety vanished.
While Vansh stood with his hot chocolate, the guy felt an intimidating aura from him—not a sunny vibe, but more like the calm of night.
"So, Aarav? You came across this café because your friend suggested it, right?" Vansh asked.
"Yeah," Aarav replied.
"I read your resume. You've worked hard on it. Do you have any prior experience? Have you worked anywhere before?"
Aarav took another sip of his coffee. "Not much, but I helped out in my friend's shop. It was quite small; nothing major."
"I noticed your grades. They aren't very impressive, though I have a question."
"A question?" Aarav's tone turned slightly fearful; he sensed something unusual.
"You studied engineering. Why are you pursuing this? Why not become an engineer? Is it passion?" Aunt was puzzled by his career choice.
"I kind of expected this question. I never felt like an engineer; I didn't have a clear path. But when I tried baking, I found I quite liked it. It wasn't necessarily a passion, but it felt right. He took a deep breath and, with it, another sip of coffee, enjoying its rich flavour.
"This might sound childish, but baking is the only thing that ever made me feel like myself. I remember once, my cousin was sick with a fever and hadn't smiled all day. Not knowing what else to do, I made a cake. Nothing special, but when she took a bite, she smiled.
"For some reason, that stuck with me. I'm not saying I'm proud of it. It's just that seeing someone happy because of something I made makes me feel like I'm doing something right. So, I wanted to pursue it properly, not just as a one-time thing. A friend suggested this place, so I thought I'd give it a shot."
"That's quite a good story you have. Are you really ready for this job?" Aunt asked, wanting to be sure.
"Yes, I am!"
Vansh, who had been observing quietly, looked at his hands and then stood up. "Aunt, I'm not okay with this." Both Aunt and Aarav turned to him.
"What do you mean?"
"People don't come here just because it feels right. Feeling alive doing something doesn't amount to a qualification. This place doesn't operate like that. If you still think you belong here—prove it."
Aarav was astonished by Vansh's words. He stood up as he heard them. Vansh was standing in front of him, and Aarav glanced at Vansh's aunt, who was silently taking a sip of her coffee.
"My nephew works here just as hard as I do. He wants the best for this place. You did say that you were ready for this work, right? Then show him. Show your worth for this job." Aarav's aunt didn't reprimand Vansh; instead, she supported his words because she knew her nephew well.
As Aarav's aunt took another sip of her coffee, she looked at Vansh, but it wasn't the present Vansh she saw. In her mind, it was the young Vansh standing there, just as adamant as ever about something, and she wanted to support him in his decision.
Aarav clenched his fists, feeling nervous. He stared into Vansh's eyes, and Vansh met his gaze, unflinching and ready for the challenge.
"You want to see my worth, right? Let me prove it to you, right here and right now."
"I am ready," he declared.
The showdown was about to reveal the true worth of their abilities.