Chapter 7

It was Sunday morning, and the sunlight filtering through my window felt gentler than usual. I woke up a bit earlier than I expected — probably because today was the day I'd finally start my part-time job.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes for a moment before glancing at the clock on my desk. The thought that I would soon be working in a real restaurant still felt strange. It had only been a week since Dad told me about his acquaintance who ran a small noodle shop and needed an extra hand. I didn't think much of it back then, but somehow I ended up saying yes.

After washing my face and changing clothes, I stepped into the kitchen, where the faint aroma of soy and sesame lingered. Mom was already there, setting breakfast on the table.

"Oh, Yuan'er, you're up early today," she said softly with a smile.

"Yeah," I replied, pulling out a chair. "I thought I'd better not be late for my first day."

She poured me a cup of warm tea and sat across from me. "Your father told me you're starting work today, right? At the small noodle shop near the market?"

I nodded. "Mm. He said the owner is his old friend."

Her expression softened, a trace of nostalgia in her eyes. "Ah, that must be Old Ye. I know her quite well too — we used to live in the same neighborhood years ago. She's a kind woman, very hardworking. You'll be fine there, Yuan'er."

I blinked in surprise. "You know her too, Mom?"

She smiled gently. "Of course. You could say she's one of my oldest friends. Her family runs that little restaurant together. You'll like them — it's a warm place."

For some reason, her words made me feel a bit more relaxed. The anxiety I'd been carrying since yesterday eased up.

After finishing breakfast, I helped her clean the dishes before heading back to my room to get ready. I double-checked my phone, wallet, and the small notepad Dad had given me for jotting things down.

******

I spent the rest of the morning at home reading a novel I borrowed last week. I tried to focus, but my eyes kept drifting to the clock.

It wasn't nerves, not exactly — more like the feeling you get before stepping into something unfamiliar. Dad had said the job wouldn't be too difficult, just helping out during the busier hours. Still, I didn't want to make a fool of myself on the first day.

Around noon, I decided to head out early. It wasn't far to the restaurant, maybe a twenty-minute walk, but I wanted to take my time. The sun was warm, not too harsh, and there was a faint breeze carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby stall.

As I walked through the shopping street, I noticed a familiar storefront — the small bookstore I'd stopped by the week before. For a moment, I hesitated, then stepped inside.

The air conditioning greeted me with a cool sigh. It was quieter than usual, the only sound being the soft rustle of pages as a few customers browsed. I made my way toward the fiction section and scanned the shelves, running my fingers lightly along the spines of the books.

I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but sometimes being surrounded by books calmed me.

"Ah, back again?"

I turned to see the same clerk from last week — a middle-aged man with glasses who remembered too many faces.

"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "Just looking."

He chuckled. "We just restocked that author you like. You have good timing."

I smiled slightly, picked up the new release, and thanked him before heading to the counter. After paying, I slipped the book into my bag and left the store.

Outside, the sunlight had softened into an early afternoon glow. I glanced at my watch — still plenty of time before my shift. My stomach growled quietly, so I decided to grab a light meal at a small food stall nearby — just some fried dumplings and tea.

As I sat by the window, watching people pass by, I wondered what kind of people the Ye family were.
Dad said they were "good, honest folk." Mom seemed to agree.
But still, it felt strange to think I'd soon be working side by side with people I'd never met before.

When I finally finished eating, I took a deep breath, straightened my bag, and checked the note Dad had written for me — the address of the restaurant.

"Ye Family Noodle House — near the East Market."

It wasn't far now.

With that thought, I stood up and started walking again, the small bell above the stall door chiming softly behind me.

******

By the time I reached East Market, the afternoon sun had mellowed into a warm amber glow. The street was lined with old-style shop signs and the faint aroma of soup and stir-fry that lingered in the air.

It didn't take long to spot the place — Ye Family Noodle House.
The signboard was simple, the kind you'd find in an older neighborhood, but the faint steam curling from the open kitchen window made the place feel alive.

I paused outside for a moment, straightened my shirt, and stepped in.

The familiar sound of a busy small restaurant greeted me — the clatter of bowls, the soft hum of conversation, and the comforting scent of broth that made my stomach remind me I'd only had dumplings earlier.

Behind the counter, a woman in her forties was arranging bowls. Her movements were quick but careful, practiced. She looked up when she noticed me.

"Ah, you must be Tang Yuan?" she said, her face breaking into a warm smile.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, bowing slightly. "My father told me to come today."

"Good, good. I'm Ye Auntie," she said, wiping her hands with a towel. "I've known your parents for a long time. Your mother and I were classmates back in school — such a diligent girl, just like you, I suppose."

I scratched the back of my neck, smiling awkwardly. "Ah, I'll try my best."

Aunt Ye chuckled. "No need to be nervous. We're just a small shop. You'll get used to the work quickly."

She gestured for me to follow her behind the counter. "Come, I'll show you around."

The kitchen was small but neatly arranged — pots simmering quietly, ingredients stacked in order, a faint rhythm of boiling, chopping, and washing.

"You'll mostly help with serving tables and washing dishes for now," she explained. "Later, if you're comfortable, you can learn to take orders too. We usually get busy from about five until eight in the evening, so your shift will start around three-thirty and end a bit after dinner hours. Is that alright?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"Good. Then you can take a short break before the crowd starts coming in. I'll have my daughter show you how we handle orders later."

I nodded, curiosity flickering at the mention of her daughter.

Aunt Ye smiled knowingly. "She's about your age, though she's been helping out here longer than you. Don't worry — she doesn't bite."

I couldn't help but laugh softly. "I'll keep that in mind."

She handed me an apron, freshly folded, and pointed toward the back sink.
"For now, help me rinse these bowls, and we'll get you familiar with the place."

As I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, the quiet rhythm of the kitchen began to settle my nerves. The sound of running water, the faint clinking of dishes, and Aunt Ye's soft humming gave the place a warm, homely feeling.

And somehow, I thought to myself — this might not be a bad way to spend my afternoons.

******

Evening arrived, and the noodle shop filled quickly. The low hum of conversation and the soft clatter of bowls created a rhythm that was strangely calming despite the rush. Steam rose from the open kitchen, carrying the rich scent of broth and soy — warm, familiar, and a little nostalgic.

It was only my first day, and I was already trying to keep up. Auntie Ye patiently guided me through each task — clearing tables, taking orders, carrying trays. I tried my best not to drop anything, though my grip on the tray was a little too tight.

Then the door to the back room opened, and Ye Ling stepped out.

She wore a simple white blouse beneath a dark apron, her hair tied neatly at the back. The sight caught me off guard — I'd never seen her outside of school before.

"...Tang Yuan?" she said softly, blinking in surprise.

I froze halfway through placing chopsticks on a table. "Ah—yeah. Auntie Ye said I should start today."

For a brief moment, her lips parted as if she wasn't sure what to say. Then a faint smile appeared.
"I see," she said, her tone quiet but warm. "So that's what she meant earlier."

I tilted my head. "What she meant?"

"She said someone would be helping out today... but she didn't mention it was you." She paused, then added gently, "That's... nice."

There was an awkward pause between us — the kind that happens when two people aren't quite sure how to act around each other. I scratched the back of my neck, glancing aside.

"Well, I'll try not to get in your way."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she replied with a small laugh — not loud or teasing, just light enough to ease the tension. "If you need help, just ask me."

As the evening went on, I learned that Ling was calm even when things got busy. Her movements were steady and practiced, her voice soft when greeting customers, her smile polite but sincere. She seemed to know every regular by name.

Meanwhile, I fumbled through orders, once mixing up two bowls of noodles. She quietly stepped beside me, correcting the mistake without a word, then glanced up with that same small smile.

"It's okay," she said. "You'll get used to it."

Something about her calmness made me relax, too. Even when I was clumsy, she never laughed or teased — instead, she treated it as something natural, something that could be fixed.

******

By the time we finished cleaning up, the sky outside the restaurant had already turned into a deep orange, fading slowly into evening blue. The sound of people passing by on the street mixed with the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen, and I realized how quickly time had gone by.

Auntie Ye thanked me for my help today and reminded me that from now on, my shift would start at four and end around eight in the evening. I nodded, saying I'd remember it. She looked pleased, saying something about how dependable I seemed—though I wasn't sure I deserved that praise yet.

Ye Ling stood by the counter, wiping her hands with a towel. When she noticed me looking her way, she gave a small smile—calm and reserved, the kind that didn't need words to carry warmth.

"You did well for your first day," she said softly. "It's not always this busy."

I chuckled a little, scratching the back of my head. "I hope so. I thought I'd messed something up earlier."

She shook her head gently. "Everyone does, at first. You'll get used to it soon."

It was strange—at school, she always seemed so quiet, almost distant, but here she looked completely natural, like this small restaurant was a place that truly belonged to her. For some reason, that thought stayed with me longer than I expected.

After saying goodbye to both of them, I stepped outside. The air felt cooler now, carrying a light breeze that brushed against the faint scent of food drifting from nearby stalls. The streetlights had begun to glow, painting the road in a soft amber hue.

I bought a drink from the vending machine near the corner and leaned against the pole for a moment, looking up at the sky. I thought about Auntie Ye's kindness, about how Ye Ling smiled, and how, somehow, I didn't feel as nervous as before.

Maybe it was because everyone there treated me like I belonged. Or maybe, I thought as I started walking again, I just hadn't realized how much I missed that feeling until today.

Just before turning the corner, I glanced back through the glass window. Inside, Ye Ling was still there, quietly wiping down the last table. Her movements were unhurried, the golden light tracing her hair like a halo.

For a moment, she looked up — not at me, but somewhere beyond, her expression unreadable under the dim light. Then she turned away, and the reflection vanished.

I stood there for a second longer than I should have, before finally walking home.

For some reason, that scene stayed in my mind longer than it should have.