The Girl with a Thousand Rejections

The bell above the café door jingled again.

An older gentleman entered the quaint café, greeted by a cheerful young woman in an apron.

“Welcome! Right this way, sir.”

She bowed slightly and turned her hand up to lead him to a window seat, with sunlight splashing onto the tiled floor.

Her smile, practiced to perfection after countless repetitions, never faltered as she pulled out her notepad.

“Would you like that hot ‘r iced?”

Her voice cracked. Just slightly. A twitch of her brow betrayed her internal scolding, but she kept her posture straight, praying he hadn’t noticed. Or at least, for her fragile sanity, she chose to believe he hadn’t.

Very few ever did. But each time felt like a white-hot spotlight on her failures.

Bowing once again, she retreated to the back. The moment the swinging doors closed behind her, she let her shoulders droop and released a long, quiet sigh. Her eyes drifted up under tired lids. The poor girl hadn’t had a break in hours with a nearly packed house all day, and the caffeine scent clung to her hair like perfume going stale.

“Rough day, isn’t it, Akari?”

She turned. A cup of warm matcha was waiting at her side offered by her coworker and roommate, Yui. She, too, looked worn from work but kept that teasing grin plastered on her face. The one Akari knew meant she had been watching her slow motion breakdown all day silently.

Akari reached for the cup, ready to roll her eyes at that familiar smirk, when a soft chirp sounded from her hip. Both women froze.

Her phone.

“Good news?” Yui asked, her voice softening but simmering with excitement.

For a moment, the light sparkled back into Akari’s eyes. Then it faded just as quickly. Her shoulders slumping once again.

“This makes fourteen this month…”

Yui straightened up again, wagging her finger in mock sternness. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she playfully chided her friend, “You know counting doesn’t help.”

“Neither does paying rent with tips,” Akari sighed, slipping her phone back into her pocket before heading over to the espresso maker.

“Don’t worry, you will make it one day. I have faith in you!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Akari murmured as the coffee machine burbled to life, “You already made it.”

“I don’t think working as a backup singer at a small studio part-time counts as making it,” Yui shook her head. Her ponytail swayed along as her smile faded into something softer. “I am still here with you, aren’t I? Paying rent with tip money.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true…” A bitter taste crept up her mouth, not from the coffee.

“Enough chitchatting, girls!” A harsh voice rose from a small figure who just entered the back. Mrs. Jun, the owner of Café Etolie, called back to her two workers, whipping them back into action before returning to the front herself.

As the espresso machine hissed and whirred, she caught her reflection in the metal casing. Plain brown hair, half-escaped from its bun. Faint bags under her eyes, smudge foundation barely concealing it. And a coffee stain on the hem of her apron to tie it all together.

A barista by day, aspiring actress by afternoon, and tired 23-year-old throughout it all.

Not the glamorous life she sought after.

Beside her reflection, taped at an odd angle, was a photo Yui had cut from a magazine. The image was of perfection himself. Perfectly quaffed hair, perfectly chiseled chin, and perfect eyes staring charmingly back at her with a perfect smile to wrap it all together.

Takumi Hayase, the number one actor in all of Japan and a household name to all.

The height she one day hoped to reach and a reminder of why she pushed herself each day.

A gentle tap brought her back. “You’ll land something soon enough,” Yui said, heading out with a tray full of lattes, “You’ve got that spark when you perform your heart out.”

That spark? Akari had heard that so many times from casting directors. They would tilt their head, smile politely and say “There's just something about you…” before handing the role over to someone else. Someone taller, or cuter, or thinner. Someone fancier. Each and every single time.

With a quiet clack, she set the espresso cup on her tray. One deep breath later, she fixed her smile, brightened her eyes again and stepped out onto the café floor.

Another perfect performance.

***

When the last customer left, Akari flipped the sign over to CLOSE and locked the door. The day’s hum faded into the soft pulse of the city outside as she made her way to her shared apartment.

The streets were already glowing gold with the first hints of sunset. Tokyo always looked beautiful at that hour, but it always made her feel so small. Like she was watching some else’s dreams play out.

As she walked home, her phone buzzed again.

Another rejection email. She didn’t even open it.

Instead, she shoved her phone into her coat pocket and gritted her teeth.

“Fine! I didn’t want to be in that stupid shampoo commercial!”

She huffed with cheeks puffed out as she passed a few bystanders giving her side-eyes after her loud outburst.

But then her phone buzzed again.

Akari stopped midstep. She was ready to throw it on the pavement and stomp it into a thousand pieces.

Until she saw the screen.

“This is Kirishima from Kawamoto Talent Management. I am thrilled to inform you that you have been shortlisted for a special performance role. Would you be available for a personal meeting tomorrow morning to discuss the details?”

Akari blinked. Once. Twice.

Kawamoto Talent Management?

She knew that name. Everyone did. They represented half of the top actors in Tokyo. All the ones whose faces were on every billboard.

Again and again her eyes scanned the screen, looking for a catch. There was no mention of an audition. Just a meeting.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Had she been scouted from that indie flick two months ago? Or could it have been from that detergent commercial where she had to grin with a sink full of bubbles? No, that couldn’t be it…

“This feels like a scam,” she muttered, thumbs hesitating before typing back:

“Yes, I am available. What time works best for you?”

Holding in a pensive breath, she returned her phone to her coat pocket again.

“Definitely a scam.”