The afternoon heat pressed itself against the windows, the kind that makes the air feel slow and sticky. I had opened the blinds halfway, letting a strip of sunlight crawl across the salon floor. Outside, the school bus rumbled to a stop, and I watched Clara step down, waving at the driver like she owned the road.
For once, I exhaled.
No rushing to pick her.
No calls from my mother demanding updates every ten minutes.
Just… quiet.
Clara has made it a fond routine not to go home but drop by the salon. She will always sit with Tyla or study with Kyle. I got tried of complaining but mom was okay with I her being around.
Sometimes we go home together or Tyla drops her off.
I leaned back in my chair and let my phone rest in my palm. Scrolling. TikTok. Faces talking, laughing, arguing…noise to fill the silence I didn't want to think about.
A video popped up: a woman crying softly, talking about how she gave a man her best years and he "still wasn't ready."
I snorted under my breath.
"Typical," I murmured. "They'll love you, eat your time, and still say they're confused."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Maybe I wasn't talking about the woman. Maybe I was talking about me. About men who promise tomorrow and give you nothing but waiting.
I swiped again. The video repeated the sentence that stung the most:
If a man wants you, you won't need to guess.
I sighed. "Must be nice."
A soft knock sounded ….then the door opened before I answered.
"Kyle,"
I said, frowning a little. "You could at least wait for 'come in."
He paused, half-apologetic, half-nervous.
"Sorry. Hi, Mary. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
There was something serious in his voice. I locked my phone and nodded toward the chair opposite me.
"Sit. What's going on?"
He sat, hands clasped, looking younger than he usually did.
"I've been thinking about something," he started slowly. "About… you. About how you run this place."
I raised a brow.
He gave a little laugh.
"Do you remember my interview? You nearly burned me alive."
I couldn't help smiling.
"You were late. And your CV was… creative."
"Yeah," he said, grinning. "But I could tell you weren't being wicked. You cared. You wanted someone who wouldn't play with your business."
His voice softened.
"You've been good to me, Mary. More than you know."
The room fell quiet.
Then he swallowed and continued. "My grandma is turning ninety. Sunday. Big thing for her. I don't… really have friends. My parents are gone. You know that."
I nodded gently.
"I was thinking…" His voice cracked a little. "It would mean a lot if you came. Not as my boss. Just… as someone who matters."
I stared at him for a second, surprised — not because of the invitation, but because of the honesty in his eyes.
For a moment, the salon didn't feel like a workplace.
It felt like life — messy, warm, unexpected.
And somewhere deep inside, I realized: I wasn't as alone as I thought.