Chapter 2.5: The Belief That Remained

Hello, this is a .5 chapter. A quiet moment between the main ones, not quite a detour, but more like a breath. A little story.

Mistakes and failures are common. But whats the difference? There’s big ones and small ones, but its not the big ones that stays, instead, it is the smaller ones that shake our belief in ourselves.

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The streets wasn’t particularly busy today.

Occasionally “clink” coming from nearby cafes, or the fallen leaves, brushing against the sidewalks.

Mio walked without much thought. The sling bag hung loosely on her shoulders, shoes clanking against the pavement in a slow, but smooth rhythm.

She wasn’t headed anywhere important. Actually it was, she is heading home, and have taken a detour.

Maybe it was the scent that reached her first, slightly sweet, but toasty somehow. Like caramelised sugar or something getting grilled.

Or maybe it was the signboard, slightly faded, paired with a hand-written menu hanging beneath it.

She paused.

Hey eyes lingered on the entrance of the cafe-like shop. The windows a little foggy from the inside, just like how it used to be.

People coming and going with laughter in their voices.

Her hand resting on the sling bag softened.

“…Right, I used to work here.”

She didn’t have to say it out loud, she didn’t have to think either. The memories just came anyways. Slipping in gently, like a leaf drifting into a stream.

The smell of soup broth, the scrape of the chairs, the slightly-too-heavy tray precariously balanced on one hand.

She hadn’t dropped any that week. Actually she never dropped any. The boss even praised her, “you’re steadier than most beginners.”

Nervousness slowly grew into confidence. 1 cup became 2 cups. 2 cups became 4 cups.

Until she could put 7 cups.

It didn’t happen overnight either.

She was a nervous-wreck working for the first time in her life.

Her boss suggesting to practice walking with one cup and slowly increasing.

She practiced, at first, with one empty cup. Unimpressive.

Learning how to place her hands under the tray.

Spreading her fingers out, and placing mosts of its weight closer to the palm, aligning with her arm.

It was easy at first. Then her boss suggested putting water in it.

It became heavier, slightly more challenging, but doable.

Then it became 2 cups.

Although at first she couldn’t find the perfect spot to put it. It was imbalanced, slightly off to the right, sometimes slightly off to the left.

But she soon got used to it.

Then 3 cups came and she breezed past it.

But, that was when 4 cups became challenging.

The tray became heavier and heavier. She didn’t exercise much. But enough to stay healthy.

Then her boss, although may have sounded like they were showing off, showed her they can balance 8-9 cups.

They swayed it around, and it didn’t topple, barely a nudge.

Mio was genuinely impressed, that it made her 4 cups looked pathetic in comparison.

But she realised her boss, was trying to tell her to be more confident, be more daring.

Walk around, go up the steps, sway it a little.

She understood that. Putting on 6 cups.

Although it was heavy where she had to use 2 hands, she could balance it. And knowing there was a little more room for error, she walked. And walked.

Gaining slightly more momentum as she go.

“You’re more stable than more beginners.” Her boss praised her.

Even getting a free drink from them on her first day.

Mio thanked them for their generosity. And was genuinely happy, and a little fuzzy on the inside.

Striving to be able to balance more, to be more useful.

She platted dishes on the tray, and another plate with her holding it directly.

She slowly got more used to it, taking orders, billing, and thanking customers.

It was like a routine she knew like the back of her hand.

It had been one of her last shifts.

The crowd wasn’t overwhelming large, but it wasn’t overly peaceful either. It was a steady stream of customers.

The kind of pace that everything moves just fast enough that you can’t afford to space out. Orders were piling up, the bell ringing every few minutes.

Mio balanced the tray in one hand, just like always. 4 drinks, all in tall glasses. She have done this so many times, now it felt automatic. Walk straight, slow turns, and no sudden movements.

But someone called her name from behind. She turned her head, just a little, acknowledging she’s listening.

And her foot caught on the corner of a bag that hadn’t been tucked properly underneath the table.

Her balance shifted, a slight wobble in an attempt to regain it.

A sharp clatter, glass against the tile.

Liquid spreading too fast for her brain to catch up.

Voices halted. A fork dropped somewhere. Someone gasped.

She stood still for a moment, just staring.

The first thought wasn’t panic, nor embarrassment.

It was “But I’ve never dropped anything before.”

Not “How much do I pay for this?”

Or “I hope it didn’t spill on anyone.”

Just that one stunned thought.

She took a small glance around her.

It didn’t spill on anyone, or hurt anyone.

But she felt a little guilty she thought of herself first instead of others.

Her manager walked over quickly. Not mad, but briskly. “Are you alright dear?”

Mio blinked, nodded.

She wasn’t hurt, but rattled.

The drinks were cleared, the floor mopped. A new drink replaced.

Everything moved on.

Except her.

No one reprimanded her. No one scolded her. Just told to be more careful. It was natural for humans to make a mistake now and then. That’s what made humans… human.

Mio was really thankful for that. But couldn’t help feeling a little… frustrated? She didn’t know exactly. But it wasn’t pleasant either.

Her last shift ended without anymore incidents.

She was logical, she knew it wasn’t a big deal. But she couldn’t help repeating it in her mind unconsciously.

The sound of the glass hitting the floor, the eyes, the silence.

She didn’t obsess over it. But it lingered.

Like a thread that hadn’t been tied off properly.

She wondered for a second. Why did it bother her?

It certainly wasn’t the first. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

So why.. this one?

Maybe because of her confidence? Maybe because it felt inefficient, like taking a step backwards?

And even worse, that her first reaction wasn’t concern.

That small, selfish thought.

It gnawed at her more than she thought it would.

Then, almost instinctively, a memory floated up.

Akari’s soft, but casual voice.

“You’re allowed… things. But that doesn’t-”

She couldn’t recall clearly.

It have been a long time since Akari told her.

Mio roughly knew what she wanted to tell her.

Accidents happens. You’re allowed to falter. You’re allowed to make mistakes, mess up, or fall short of imperfection.

And that’s part of being human.

A mistake doesn’t erase who you are, doesn’t erase your worth, or undo all your efforts.

Just like the spill, it didn’t make her any less reliable, it didn’t revert her hard work. Or less “Mio”.

Akari always had this way of saying things. Short, simple, and yet they stay. Always saying exactly what Mio needed.

“Right, it was ‘You’re allowed to drop things. But that doesn’t drop who you are.’”

Mio didn’t remember when she said it. But she know very well she told her it.

Maybe it wasn’t even about this.

But it still came to her. Sudden, but welcome.

And it made her grip on her guilt ease, just a little.

It wasn’t a bad feeling.

She paused in front of the cafe. Watching another customer walk out laughing, holding a drink that look diabetic-ally sweet.

And she thought,

maybe the mistake wasn’t what clung to her.

Maybe it was the belief she couldn’t make one.

The cafe door gave a soft jingle as it opened for another customer. The smell of soup drifted out again. Carried by the wind.

Mio didn’t move for a moment.

Then, she shifted her grip on her sling bag and stepped forward. The rhythm of her shoes against the pavement resuming — steady, and smooth again, just like before.

There was no dramatic moment. No music rising in the background. But a thought, soft and small:

“It’s alright to drop things.”

She didn’t mean the cups.

But something else. Something quieter, but closer, like the tension in her chest. Or how she carried that moment, like it defined her.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Not smug… just there.

‘I sounded… like Akari.”, she thought to herself, a little surprise.

And it wasn’t a bad feeling.

She didn’t say goodbye to the cafe. Didn’t need to. Logical as she is, nothing would change from a goodbye.

The memory stayed. Quietly folded into her walk home. Not heavy, not loud. Just something she could carry home.

She didn’t need to fix it.

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Thanks for reading this little .5 chapter. It’s not really a detour, more like a quiet moment tucked between the bigger ones.

Sometimes, it’s not the big failures that stay with us, but the small ones we didn’t expect.

This chapter is just a short story. A pause. A breath.

But hopefully, it meant something to you.

If it did, I’d love to hear your thoughts. :DD