There was a gas station just a stone’s throw away from campus, and you went there every few days to get a snack or a beverage to keep you company while you studied. Inside the gas station was a cashier who seemed far too skilled at making you blush just by smiling at you and asking about your evening. Her name tag read Joyce and her hair was the kind of shaggy that made you indulge in fantasies that she could have been in a band in another life - or even this life, it wasn’t like you knew what she did with her free time.

Lately, your visits had been more frequent, and you lied to both of you that it was because exam season had arrived. Tonight, you brought two energy drinks and a bag of chips to the checkout counter, and she smiled her usual smile as she scanned your items.

“You know, with all this caffeine and sugar, you should really get some water too,” Joyce commented casually, her voice light with the experience of knowing pushing too firmly would get blatant refusal.

“Oh, the drinks are actually sugar free!” You weren’t sure why you thought that important enough to point out, but it earned a chuckle that made your heart skip a beat.

“Humor me. Go get a water, for me? I’ll feel guilty if we lose my favorite customer.”

The “for me?” did it. It always did. That slight tilt of her head, the way she made it sound like a shared secret, a personal favor. You were already turning back toward the coolers before your brain could formulate a protest.

You returned, placing a large bottle of water on the counter with a soft thud. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Joyce said, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she scanned the water. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. The station was empty, the hum of the coolers and the distant buzz of the neon sign the only sounds. “You know, I’ve been keeping track.”

Your breath stalled. “Of my water intake?” You joked, your nerves on edge.

“Of your visits.” She said it plainly, no teasing lilt, just a simple, warm statement. She tapped a few keys on the register. “Three times this week. Monday was a coffee and a banana. Wednesday was those weird pretzel sticks and a sports drink. And now tonight’s… feast.” She gestured to your haul. “It’s not a criticism. I just notice things.”

You fumbled for your wallet, the material suddenly slippery in your hands. “Exams,” you mumbled, the lie feeling flimsier than ever.

“Right. Exams.” She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving yours as she took your card. Her fingers brushed against yours during the handoff, a fleeting, electric contact. “Must be brutal, all that studying. Do you ever take a break? Or is it just… gas station food and the dazzling company of a graveyard shift cashier?”

The question hung in the air, charged and direct in a way she’d never been before. You could play it safe, laugh it off. But her eyes were so kind, so genuinely curious, that the truth tumbled out before you could cage it.

“The company is the break,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your brain was yelling at you to finish the encounter and dip out before she could pity you, but your body was frozen in place.

For a moment, Joyce just looked at you. Then her smile softened from its usual brilliant, customer-service brightness into something more real, more intimate. It was a sunrise seen through a foggy window; diffuse, beautiful, and just for you.

“Well,” she said, handing you your receipt and the bag. Her voice was just as quiet. “My shift ends at midnight. If you wanted… a longer break. There’s a decent diner about two blocks down. They make terrible coffee, but amazing pie.”

You stood there, holding the plastic bag that suddenly felt weightless. The world outside the gas station’s glass walls seemed to blur and fade. It was just this island of light, the smell of stale coffee and gasoline, and her hopeful smile framed by hair your fingers yearned to glide through.

“Midnight?” you repeated, like an idiot.

“Or twelve-oh-five,” she said, a playful edge returning to her voice. “I have to count the till. But I’ll wait. If you’re there.”

You nodded, a slow, dazed motion. “Yeah. Okay. Pie sounds good.”

“Good.” She straightened up, the moment stretching, then snapping gently back into place as the bell on the door jingled and another customer walked in. “See you then, favorite customer.”

You floated out of the gas station, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the warmth spreading through your chest. You didn’t even remember the walk back to your dorm. All you could think about was the way she’d said “favorite customer,” and how, in just over an hour, you hoped she’d have a new name for you.