Chapter 3

• He shook off the thought, but then his stomach growled—loudly. The warm scent of tomato soup and toasty bread was leaking through the paper bag, and it made his mouth water.
• He was starving. Really starving.
• No. Gala wouldn’t dare lose everything just for a taste of Lady Gennie’s food order.
• The woman was tall—towering, even—with strange clothing choices and a scarf so loud in color it could blind a person. Her eyes were even sharper. Gala remembered vividly the first time he delivered food to her house.
• Her cane had struck his back—hard.
• More than once.
• She’d screamed at him, called him a thief, right there in broad daylight as he stood on her porch holding a lunch delivery. Chaos broke out. The neighbors didn’t believe a word he said, no matter how clearly the restaurant’s paper bag and his uniform identified him.
• “He’s lying!” she shrieked. “I saw him go upstairs! He stole my late husband’s heirloom necklace! Search him!”
• It was pure hell.
• Gala had wanted to scream back, but before he could even defend himself, security showed up. He had no choice but to stay calm, explain everything in painstaking detail, and let them search for him. He wasn’t guilty, so he didn’t flinch. And sure enough, none of the old woman’s accusations held up.
• The officers eventually contacted Mr. Kim’s restaurant and confirmed everything. Gala was let go.
• You’d think the woman would apologize for causing such a public scene, for accusing an innocent man. But no—when she realized her food had arrived late, that became her next outrage.
• “You’re the food delivery boy? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Idiot!” Her cane flew again, this time hitting Gala square on the back. “He just stood there gawking like a criminal! Why didn’t he say he was here to deliver lunch, instead of stammering like some thief?”
• Gala had been too stunned to respond.
• And now? Was he really going to face her wrath again?
• “Gala, move it!!” Marta’s voice tore through the kitchen.
• He jumped. “On it, Marta! I’m heading out now!”
• Gala was really starting to believe his luck was cursed.
• He’d been extra cautious, pedaling his rickety bike through the streets like his life depended on it. He even slowed down for pushy drivers who cut him off without warning, letting them pass so he wouldn’t tip over. All he could think about was that damn paper bag and Marta’s warning: Don’t spill Lady Gennie’s tomato soup.
• And then—of course—it happened.
• Just as he turned onto the street leading to Lot 5, a car in front of him slammed on its brakes. No warning. Gala swerved to avoid a crash, but the motion threw off his balance. His wheels wobbled, hands tightened around the handlebars.
• Maybe it was because he’d been daydreaming the whole way.
• He had taken the long route past the front of Mr. Kim’s restaurant—his first time doing so in daylight. It was a rare opportunity, after all. And by taking the main road, he’d thought he could shave off a few minutes, making the delivery right on time.
• As he passed earlier, he realized Luke had been right. The place was never empty. Not even for a second. From his bike, Gala spotted Mr. Kim near Marta’s station, sitting close to the register. His round head peeked up above the counter, eyes twinkling at the flood of customers pouring through the door.
• The restaurant was thriving.
• Too bad Gala’s Day wasn’t.
• Gala was certain of it—that strange little smile on Mr. Kim’s face that said everything. The man was practically glowing with the success of his always-packed restaurant. And there was Daniel, stationed at the far end near the stairs, scribbling down order after order. His expression looked far less relaxed than it had been that morning when Gala greeted him.
• Daniel was quieter than Luke, who was both loud and constantly spewing insults. Unlike Luke, Daniel responded to Gala with a simple smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, as if offering silent encouragement. But now, Daniel looked… frustrated. Like something about the endless stream of new menu requests was weighing on him. What, though? Gala couldn’t quite tell.
• His curiosity made him pause for a moment, watching the service area from the open kitchen doorway. Lisa was cheerfully plating up meals with her usual effortless energy. Mr. Kim had a full staff, but most of them rarely acknowledged Gala. Even when he tried to smile or offer a friendly nod, they’d just turn away—or worse, give him that annoyed, why are you talking to me? look.
• Still, Gala couldn’t help it. He wished—desperately—that he could be like Daniel or Lisa. At least their positions came with better pay. God, how he needed the money. But what else could he do, really, besides cling to Mr. Kim’s mercy and hope he didn’t get fired?
• “Hey… are you okay?”
• The voice startled him.
• Gala blinked, his breath catching as he turned toward it. For a second, he thought an angel had descended into South Metro. Or maybe she was just standing right there in front of him. His eyes blinked again, not quite believing what he was seeing.
• “Can you… get up?”
• He scrambled to his feet, only then realizing the full disaster around him. Lady Gennie’s order was completely ruined, scattered across the pavement near the curb.
• “Shit!” The word flew from his mouth before he could stop it. He dropped to his knees, frantically gathering the mess he’d made. Dread curled in his stomach, already picturing Mr. Kim’s red face growing redder by the second, his voice booming like a thunderclap.
• “God,” Gala muttered again, heart pounding. His hands worked quickly, picking up pieces of food now dusted with street dirt and debris. His bike lay pitifully on its side; one handlebar bent at a crooked angle.
• “Hey!” the girl’s voice called again—louder this time, firm but not harsh. She must’ve realized he hadn’t really noticed her yet. “Do you need help?”
• She crouched beside him without hesitation.
• “No, it’s okay,” Gala replied, stealing a quick glance at her. “You’ll get your hands dirty.”
• She chuckled softly. “I don’t mind.”
• And that’s when he really looked at her.
• Her lips—naturally peach-colored—curved into a smile so warm, so radiant, it bloomed like springtime. Gala started, awestruck. Something fluttered in his chest, unfamiliar and dangerously close to hope.
• God, he thought. If You're still out there…
• He wasn’t sure anymore. It had always felt like whatever divine power people believed in had long since written him off. Abandoned him to a life of endless bad luck. But in that moment, staring at her smile, Gala didn’t want to doubt. Not right now.
• Maybe, just maybe, some tiny fragment of mercy had been spared for him. And if that was true, then all he wanted was to bask in this smile for as long as he could.
• Even just a little while longer.
• “Oh!”
• Gala whipped his head around at the voice—sharp, loud, unmistakable.
• “So this is what you’re doing when you’re supposed to be delivering my lunch, Stupid Gala?!”
• And just like that, Gala knew—he was doomed.