Sophia's POV
A week later, I signed the papers to release his body. I arranged for a simple funeral. I didn't plan a big ceremony. I wouldn't say it was just how he would have wanted; it was because our savings were short. But then, who plans for such things? I thought to myself, shrugging my shoulders.
The funeral was finally over. My father was gone. But my life didn't have to end. I had to keep moving, keep working. I didn't have the luxury to grieve for long. After settling his hospital bills, I wasn't left with much. Now, more than ever, I needed money.
I could still hear my dad's voice in my head, telling me we'd be fine. That we'd always figure it out. Only this time, he wasn't here to help me.
I walked inside the house, slowly dragging my feet, and sat on the couch. The apartment was quiet, so quiet that if someone dropped a pin in the bedroom, I'd hear it from the living room.
I leaned forward and sighed, trying so hard to carry myself. I pulled out the folder where we kept our savings documents, payment receipts, and bank statements. In there was also the letter from the landlord. I opened it up again as if I was expecting the content to have changed, but it still boldly read: "Notice to Vacate."
My heart began to feel faint. "What am I going to do now?" I said under my breath as I slowly lay back on the couch, holding the folder to my chest as tears began to fill my eyes.
I finally resumed work. I didn't want to stay at home any longer, feeling sorry for myself. So I threw myself back into work at the bar, taking on every available shift—morning and night. It didn't matter. I was stressed out, but I just needed to make enough to buy the house before my time ran out.
Most of the regular customers knew me well by now, because I was almost always there. Some were kind; they left generous tips when they could. Especially one very cheerful customer who was always at the bar with his friends.
He was a quiet man, polite and never caused any trouble. Whenever he was around, he smiled at everyone and always tipped well, and I appreciated that.
That night, he was alone.
I had just finished serving drinks when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw him standing there, smiling softly.
"Sophia, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked calmly, almost shutting his right eye, as if he were winking.
I didn't hesitate for a second. "Sure. Give me a moment."
I rushed off to drop my tray and followed him to a quiet corner of the bar. He leaned against the wall, looking at me closely before he started talking.
"I just wanted to say, you're very hardworking," he began, putting his hands in his pockets. "I see how hard you work here. You always look your best. It's admirable."
My face brightened. I was surprised by his words; I wasn't expecting it. No one had ever said something like that to me before.
"Thank you," I said, trying to stop my smile.
"I mean it," he continued, slightly and slowly shifting his weight. "I admire you. A lot."
Could this be what I'm thinking? I thought to myself. He had been kind to me so far. He was handsome, wealthy, at least from what I knew of him, and I was single. I was excited.
He moved closer to me, took his right hand out of his pocket, and lightly touched my arm.
His hand slid from my arm to my waist for a second. A light touch, but definitely intentional, I thought. I got slightly tense, but I didn't move away yet. Maybe it was just an accident.
Then, his fingers went up my arm again, as though he was about to touch my waist once more. I took a step back slowly, and my smile faded away. I was trying to understand what his intentions were, but I still didn't say a word. I was patiently waiting for him to clear the questioning look on my face.
His expression didn't change.
"I really like you. Could we spend the night together? Sophia, just one night. I promise you won't regret it."
My stomach twisted like I'd swallowed ice. Blood rushed to my face. "What?" I asked, tilting my neck to the side and slightly narrowing my eyes.
I stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. Maybe I didn't hear him clearly, but his expression said it all. It couldn't have been a mistake, even though I wished it were.
He spoke again, his voice lower this time. "I'll pay. Whatever amount you want."
I stepped back again, shaking my head.
He moved a few steps toward me, still calm, still composed. "I know you're struggling. I can help you. You wouldn't have to work so hard. It's just one night, and I'll take care of you, I promise."
My stomach twisted tighter. My hands turned cold. Who told him I was struggling? How could he say that so easily?
"No. I'm not that kind of person," I said angrily.
He sighed. "I thought you might see it differently."
My hands clenched into fists before I could stop them. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I could barely see straight through the blur of shame and rage. Was this what he thought of me? That I was desperate enough to sell myself?
"I think you have the wrong idea. I'm not that kind of person," I said again, bluntly, trying hard not to raise my voice.
His smile didn't fade. He went on trying to convince me.
"Come on, Sophia. It's just for a night, and I promise I won't be in your face again after this."
I shook my head angrily. "No, sir. Like I said, you have the wrong girl. I would never do something like that."
He sighed again, looking disappointed, as if I were the one being unreasonable. "Think about it."
"There's nothing to think about," I said firmly. "I have work to do."
I walked away without saying another word. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands were shaking as I picked up my tray. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.
My smile had long vanished, but something heavier now sat in my chest. I had imagined a real conversation, maybe even something sweet. I would have said yes. Instead, I felt like I had been slapped with silence.
I wanted to forget what had just happened. But I couldn't. Because as I looked back at him from across the room, I saw the look in his eyes.
He looked like he wasn't going to stop—like he was still going to try again.