Café Exterior
The sign BREW HAVEN flickered above the door, the "H" buzzing erratic like it was plotting escape. Steam fogged the windows from inside, turning the place into a hazy dream—or nightmare. Moon paused on the sidewalk, wind whipping her hair across her face. The street hummed: cars rumbling past, a vendor hawking hot chestnuts with a smoky-sweet call, pedestrians dodging puddles like landmines.
Last normal thing today. She squared her shoulders, faked a grin at her reflection in the glass door. "You got this, Moon. Act like the world's not crumbling."
The bell dinged weak as she pushed inside—tinny chime, half-hearted welcome. Coffee steam swirled thick, mixing with the stale tang of day-old pastries and burnt grounds. The lunch crowd thinned to a straggle: a couple arguing low over muffins, a guy typing furious on his laptop. Noise buzzed like TV static in her head.
Mr. Lee loomed behind the counter, arms crossed tight over his stained apron, face etched with that end-of-shift weariness. His eyes flicked up—dark circles deep as regrets—and landed on her.
Moon stiffened mid-step, smile freezing. Uh oh. That look. "…Morning? Er—afternoon? Hi, Mr. Lee."
He didn't smile back. Didn't even nod. Just jerked his chin toward the back. "Moon. Come here for a second."
That tone. Low. Firm. The kind that said we need to talk without the words. Her stomach knotted, twisting cold. "Oh no," she whispered, barely audible over the espresso machine's hiss. Not today. Please not—
The back alcove smelled stronger of coffee—bitter roast, milk foam gone sour at the edges. Mr. Lee leaned on the prep table, sleeves rolled up, hands knuckled white. Moon hovered by the door, backpack still slung heavy, fingers twisting the strap.
"I need to talk to you," he said, voice low but steady, like he hated this as much as she would.
Moon held her breath, lungs burning. "Um... okay? Did I mess up an order again? The oat milk thing? I can fix—"
He shook his head, slow, eyes tired-soft under the harsh light. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, apron crusted with spills from the rush. "Moon... look. You're a good kid. Reliable when you're here. But you've been late too many times. Missed shifts. And..." He exhaled heavy, like letting go of air he'd held too long. "Corporate's cutting hours across the board. Tight budgets, you know? I can't... I can't keep you on anymore."
The words landed soft. Then boom—echoing in her skull. Moon froze, mid-blink. The alcove blurred at the edges, steam curling like smoke from a bomb. Fired? Me? Now?
"Oh," she whispered, voice tiny thread. Her smile didn't drop—no, it glued on tighter, trembling at the corners like cracked porcelain. "Okay. Yeah. It's... fine. I get it. Economy sucks. Happens all the time."
Mr. Lee frowned, lines deepening around his mouth. He uncrossed his arms, hand half-reaching like he wanted to pat her shoulder but thought better. "You don't have to pretend, kid. I'm really sorry. You've been pulling doubles half the time. If it was up to me—"
She shook her head quick—too quick—hair whipping her cheeks. "No, seriously. It's normal. Everything's fine." Liar. Stop lying. Her hands shook so bad she tucked them behind her back, nails digging crescents into palms. The orchid scent flickered—warm puff against the coffee fug—but she barely noticed, drowned in the roar in her ears.
He hesitated, voice dropping softer, almost dad-like. "Take the rest of the week if you need. Severance? Small check next Friday. And... hey, reference. Anytime."
Moon swallowed hard, throat clicking dry. "Got it. Thanks. For... everything." She bowed quick—awkward dip, like from a bad drama—and spun away before her eyes could sting. Don't cry. Not here. Not in the stockroom smelling like regret.
Her Smile Cracking
The counter loomed like enemy territory. Moon tied her apron with fingers gone numb—knots sloppy, strings tangling twice. "Okay," she whispered to the espresso machine, its hum mocking her. "We survive today. Smile. Don't break. Please don't break."
A customer shuffled up—middle-aged guy in a rumpled coat, eyes on his phone. Moon plastered on the grin, bright as neon. "Hi—welcome to Brew Haven! What can I get started for you today?"
He glanced up, barely, scanning the menu board like it owed him money. "Latte. Extra hot. No foam."
"Coming right up!" Her voice chirped—too high, too peppy, like a balloon about to pop. Smile, Moon. Don't cry into the milk frothier. That'd be a new low.
She turned, hands fumbling the tamper—clink—grounds spilling over the edge. Steam hissed up, hot cloud blurring her vision. Two more hours. That's it. Then no job.. No safety net. No no I forget I have still my scholarship to study so I think at least I will be fine for this semester Just... freefall.
The orchid brushed past again—soft, sweet, curling through the steam like a secret lifeline. Moon blinked mid-pour, steam beading on her lashes. "There it is again..."
It wrapped her gentle, warm against the café's bitter bite. "Why do I keep smelling this?" she murmured, voice lost in the whir. Flower-soft, like night air promising quiet. But the coffee roar swallowed it, scent fading to burnt sugar ghost.
Another order—cappuccino, dry—and she nodded through it, smile cracking at the edges. Jaw ached from the hold. Endure. Pour. Serve. Repeat.
Time Skip (Clock Reading 5:03 PM)
The clock above the register ticked merciless—5:03 PM. Moon wiped the counter in slow circles, rag gray with spills, fake smile etched permanent. Her jaw throbbed, a dull pulse. The afternoon crowd melted to empty tables, chairs scraped back like accusations.
Mr. Lee called from the back, voice muffled through the door: "You can close out early today if you want. Last day and all. No point dragging it."
Moon nodded—automatic, empty. "Okay. Thank you." Last day. The words echoed, hollow drum in her chest. No tomorrow. No "See you at 7?" No rhythm left.
Inside? Her heart cracked wide—raw, bleeding quiet. Nothing. Job gone. Dreams revoked. Birthday? A punchline no one laughed at.
She untied the apron slow, fingers lingering on the knots. Folded it careful—too careful—like it was a flag from a lost war. "Goodbye, dumb apron," she whispered, voice wobbly. "You weren't soft. Smelled like old milk and broken plans."
Backpack slung over shoulder—heavy with the book, light with hope—she pushed through the door. Bell dinged farewell. Outside, the air slapped cold and sharp—wind howling down the street, streetlights buzzing awake in the dim. Like the world shrugged: Your mess. Handle it.
Walking Down the Street
Moon trudged the sidewalk, boots splashing leftover puddles, each step echoing too loud. The city blurred at edges—neon signs flickering judgmental, cars whooshing past with indifferent roars. Her phone weighed her pocket down, tempting.
Text him. Fingers hovered over the screen as she paused at a crosswalk. Typed slow, thumbs clumsy: Moon: "Can you meet me? After work? I wanna… talk. Please."
Stared at the words—vulnerable, bare. Send? Or delete? Heart thumped. Send.
Ding—quick as a slap. His reply bloomed: Wèi Chén: "Sure. 7 PM. The garden?"
Moon's eyes softened, blur of unshed tears. A shaky smile cracked through—real, fragile thing. "Yeah," she whispered to the screen, thumb tracing his name. "Okay. I'll see you there."
Wind tugged her scarf loose, but warmth bloomed small in her chest. He said yes. He actually wants to see me. Maybe today would turn. One soft moment in the storm. Please.
PANEL 7 — The Walk to the Garden
Sky bled into evening blue, streetlights popping on like hesitant stars. Wind ruffled Moon's hair as she veered off the main drag, toward the hidden park—old iron gate tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore. Branches creaked overhead, bare and skeletal, pine scent sharp in the chill.
She touched her chest light, hand over the ache. "I have time. Let me... just sit. Breathe. Wait for him."
The gate creaked open under her push—rusted hinges groaning protest. Inside, the garden lay hushed: stone paths cracked with frost, fountain murmuring soft in the centre like a half-forgotten lullaby. Bare branches arched like empty arms, wilted bushes huddling shadows.
Moon sank onto the familiar bench—wood cold through her coat, backpack hugged close like Armor. Glanced at her phone: 6:29 PM. "Thirty minutes," she murmured, breath fogging white. "I can wait. I'll tell him everything. The job. School. My birthday. Maybe birthday"
She leaned back, head lolling against the slats, eyes drifting shut. The world softened—wind's hush, fountain's trickle. And there—the orchid scent drifted cross again. Soft. Shimmering. Faint like a memory waiting to bloom.
Moon's lips curved, small peace. "Please..." she whispered to the closing dark. "Let tonight be gentle. Just once."
Unaware the stars above? They listened. And the wind... it stirred.
Disclaimer
This work is a fan-made story inspired by The Apothecary Diaries. The world, its canon characters, and original setting belong to their creators.
Moon, her journey, and all new scenes written here are entirely my own creations. This story is shared purely for love of the universe and for personal enjoyment. No copyright infringement is intended.