The soft rays of the morning sun were brushing against the walls of Amie's newly rented house, filtering gently inside. The house felt abandoned—there were only the essentials, and even those were old. On one side lay a bed, the sheet of which was not even properly spread. A single chair, which until now had become his temporary bed.
As the morning light touched Amie's face, his eyes slowly opened. For several moments, he remained motionless, staring at the ceiling, as if contemplating how this day might unfold. Then slowly, he adjusted his hair, stretched slightly, and stood up.
He picked up his leather bag and began pulling out the clothes inside. As he reached for a fresh outfit, his hand touched a shirt. A white shirt—which was no longer white. The shirt was soaked in blood.
He froze for a moment. He turned the shirt over in his hands, examining it carefully, as if searching for answers. Then, without any visible emotion, he picked up the shirt and walked over to the washbasin. He turned on the tap and began scrubbing the fabric. The water gradually turned red, but the stains refused to disappear. He paused to look at it... and then, again without a flicker of reaction, placed the shirt aside.
Amie went straight into the bathroom. After some time, when he returned, he was dressed in new clothes—a crisp white shirt and black formal trousers. There was no excitement on his face, only clarity—today, he had to find work.
He picked up his bag and checked the documents inside. A file, filled with papers. He pulled out a few sheets and separated them. But one document remained—his CV.
He looked at it for a moment. It held a record of his past work. Then, without thinking further, he rolled it up.
For a moment, he stood in the middle of the room. No tea, no breakfast. This house still didn't feel like his.
He locked the door, latched it, and without any haste, walked down the stairs.
The city was slipping into its morning rhythm. Vehicles moving along the roads, cyclists, people heading to their offices.
Amie took out a cigarette from his pocket, stopped at the colony gate, and lit it.
The smoke mixed gently with the breeze. Amie took a deep breath, as if it were a brief escape.
It was a habit—maybe a way to think, or simply a way to pass time. He finished the cigarette, flicked off the ash, and began walking, without any urgency.
Along the way, he looked intently at every passing building, observing them deeply, all while lost in his own world.
Walking, walking—he arrived at a quiet spot. Hunger was now beginning to grow stronger, and he could feel a mild weariness set in. He glanced around, and just then, at the very end of the road, hidden in a corner, he spotted a café.
"Devoile Books & Brews Café."
Amie stopped at the entrance of the café. The air carried a faint morning chill, which only deepened the peace that hung in the atmosphere. Above the door, a small wooden board swayed gently in the breeze—
"Where old stories find new readers."
For a moment, he kept staring at the board, as if sensing the stories hidden behind those words. Then slowly, he pushed open the glass door and stepped inside.
The atmosphere inside was entirely different from the chaos of the city outside—serene, wrapped in a warm layer of nostalgia. The soft light settled over wooden walls, carrying with it the subtle scent of old books, and in the corner, stood a few antique pieces that seemed to cradle their stories within.
On wooden shelves, books from both the old and new worlds were carefully arranged, as if this were a miniature universe built entirely of pages. In one corner stood an old typewriter—lifeless, and yet, somehow brimming with untold tales.
This place was far removed from noise and rush, almost like another world. In one corner, an elderly guy with spectacles was buried in a newspaper; in another, a young boy turned the pages of a book, completely absorbed, as though cut off from reality itself.
A faint aroma of coffee floated through the air, and the soft lighting gave the café an even deeper sense of calm.
There was a strange kind of silence here, as though time itself had paused.
Amie, without any sense of urgency, chose a table. He placed his rolled-up CV on it and let himself absorb the surroundings.
Within a few minutes, an elderly gentleman—Mr. Ray—stepped out from behind the counter, wearing an apron. The lines of age and experience were clearly etched across his face, along with a hint of weariness. But there was also a distinct softness in his eyes—as if he was in the habit of viewing every new face as a story waiting to be discovered.
"Welcome to Books & Brews! What would you like?" he asked.
Without glancing at the menu, Amie replied plainly—
"One black coffee, and whatever is today's special."
Mr. Ray gave a gentle smile. "Black coffee and today's special... one moment."
As Mr. Ray served Amie his black coffee and a sandwich, two more customers entered the café. A third person quietly made his way to the books section.
And that's when Amie noticed—Mr. Ray was clearly struggling.
With one hand, he was brewing coffee, with the other, he was handling cash, and in between, he was taking down orders.
Amie took a sip of his coffee, broke off a piece of his sandwich, and asked in a casual tone—
"Need some help?"
Mr. Ray paused for a moment and looked at Amie.
Then, with a slightly careless laugh, he said—
"Help? Yeah, sure. Can you serve this coffee to that table?"
Amie quickly finished his coffee, left half the sandwich untouched, picked up the cup and saucer, and walked over to serve the customer without any fuss or fanfare. Then, just as quietly, he returned to his table and sat down again.
A little while later, once the customers had settled, Mr. Ray came back to Amie, wiping his hands on a apron, and said—
"Thanks... By the way, what's your name?"
Amie met his gaze briefly and answered softly,
"Amie."
Mr. Ray stood beside the table, narrowing his eyes slightly, as if trying to size him up.
"You don't talk much, do you?"
Without replying, Amie simply took the last bite of his sandwich.
Mr. Ray wiped his hands and said casually—
"Well, I could use a helping hand. Running this café all alone is getting difficult."
Amie paused for a moment, then looked directly at Mr. Ray and said plainly—
"Consider it done. I need a job too."
Mr. Ray gave him a look from head to toe, as if trying to read him in that one glance. Then, with a faint smile, he asked—
"Have you ever worked in a place like this before?"
Amie replied casually—
"No. But I think I'm starting to understand books... and coffee too."
Mr. Ray paused for a second, then a mischievous smile crept into his eyes—
"Oh really? Well then, let's see what you've got."
While rearranging the books near the counter, he asked casually—
"You look new around here. Where've you come from?"
"Yeah, I just arrived a few days ago," Amie replied casually, but he didn't answer the next question that was never asked out loud.
Mr. Ray looked at him for a brief moment, then smiled and simply said—
"Hmm... I see."
"Where did you work before?"
Amie replied without any expression—
"At a gym as a gym trainer. And at a hotel as a receptionist too."
Mr. Ray thought for a moment, then said casually,
"Alright, alright... and now you've come here chasing some dream?"
For a second, silence fell between them.
"Okay, your job is simple—place the books in the right spot on the shelves, serve the orders, and help out in the kitchen once in a while."
Mr. Ray said it with a soft smile.
Then, hesitating a little, he asked,
"How much salary do you expect?"
Amie thought for a moment, then looked him directly in the eyes and said—
"Whatever you think is fair. But I really liked your black coffee and sandwich. I'll need those daily."
For a moment, Mr. Ray just looked at Amie. Then he burst out laughing—
"Alright then, I can at least manage that much from my side!"
Amie looked around the place, then said casually—
"This café looks pretty old and vintage... your dad or grandfather must've started it?"
Mr. Ray gave a gentle chuckle,
"Good guess. This café was started by my great-grandfather, almost 150 years ago. It was very dear to my father... and to me too. But with time, people changed. Now, most folks prefer the new cafés. These days, hardly anyone likes books anymore."
For a moment, he glanced around the café, as if lost in old memories.
"But there's something special about 'Devoilé Café'... those who know it, truly know it."
Mr. Ray paused a bit before saying,
"By the way, your shift here will only be until 3 PM. After that, my brother and his son take care of the café."
"After 3 PM?" Amie asked, a little curious.
Mr. Ray gave a small smile,
"Yes... our ways of thinking are a little different. I wanted to try many new things in the café, but nothing ever really worked out."
Amie listened quietly, then nodded in understanding.
Just then, a few new customers entered. Mr. Ray cast a quick glance at Amie and said—
"Alright then, let's get to work!"
Amie glanced once at Mr. Ray, then rolled up his sleeves and got straight to work.
He became so absorbed in his tasks that he lost all sense of time. One by one, he picked up each book, placed it carefully in the right spot, wiped away the dust, and in between, served coffee as well.
And just like that, Amie had begun a new day in his life.
The atmosphere of the café had now changed.
The calm of the morning, the scent of books, and the soft jazzy music had been replaced by the buzz of people and the hum of incoming orders.
The gentle rumble of the coffee machines, the clinking of cups, and light chatter had brought a fresh rhythm to the café.
Just then, the café door swung open with a sudden push.
A young guy entered—light stubble on his chin, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and a half-smile resting on his lips.
As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes went straight to Mr. Ray.
"Uncle, sorry I got a little late."
There was a strange nonchalance in his voice, as if time didn't really matter much to him.
Without even looking in his direction, Mr. Ray responded in a casual tone—
"You're here now, which means he's free."
The boy looked slightly curious.
He turned toward Amie, pausing for a second to scan him from head to toe.
"You were looking for a helper, is this guy new?"
"Yes, this is Amie. He's just learning," Mr. Ray replied.
With a slight smirk, the boy stepped toward Amie.
"Oh cool. I'm Steve. Mr. Ray's nephew."
Amie gave only a brief glance upward, shook his hand, and replied simply—
"Amie."
Without engaging in any further conversation, Amie removed his apron, hung it neatly on a hook beside the counter, and began walking toward the café door.
For a moment, Steve watched him leave. Then he turned to Mr. Ray and said—
"This guy seems pretty serious."
Mr. Ray simply nodded with a faint smile.