Thoughts

Luca

Work at the diner is busy today, the morning rush filling every booth and table. The familiar clatter of plates and chatter of customers creates a rhythm I’m used to. I slip into the routine of taking orders, pouring coffee, and refilling drinks. It’s a welcome distraction from my thoughts, but every so often, my mind drifts back to that rich kid.

“Luca! Table three needs their check!” my manager calls, pulling me out of my daydream. I nod and hustle over, jotting down the total and grabbing the plates to clear away.

Elliot

I’ve never been particularly good at small talk. It’s one of those skills you’re supposed to pick up when you grow up in a family like mine, but I always felt like an imposter, faking smiles and nodding along as though I cared about the latest stock prices or who just got a promotion.

The meeting with the investors is nothing short of excruciating. I sit there, my father leading the discussion with his usual bravado, while I doodle on the notepad in front of me, my mind drifting. Each time I hear the word “return” or “profit,” I feel myself slipping further away from the conversation, from this world that feels more like a cage than a life.

As the investors throw around numbers and projections, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a different kind of meeting. One where we discuss dreams, ambitions, and the things that make life worth living. But that’s not how my family operates. It’s all about status, wealth, and maintaining the facade.

Eventually, the meeting wraps up, and the investors shuffle out, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. My father’s voice booms with satisfaction as he talks about how well it went. I nod, forcing a smile, but all I can think about is the feeling of confinement that’s grown heavier in my chest.

“Elliot, are you even paying attention?” My father’s sharp tone snaps me back to reality.

“Yeah, of course,” I say, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “It went well.”

“We need to keep building on this momentum,” he continues, oblivious to my internal struggle. “Your mother and I are counting on you to step up. We can’t afford any missteps.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his expectations suffocating me. “I’ll do my best,” I say, even though my heart isn’t in it. I need to find a way out, a way to breathe.

Once the meeting is over, I head back to my office, shutting the door behind me. I lean against it, staring at the polished desk filled with paperwork and responsibilities that feel so far removed from what I want.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, pausing when I reach the number I saved last night the one that belongs to the guy I met. What was his name? Luca? The name feels familiar, but it’s been gnawing at me, the memory of his face hovering in the back of my mind like an itch I can’t scratch.

What would happen if I reached out? Would he think I’m just another privileged jerk looking to tick off a box on some bucket list? I can’t shake the feeling that he saw through me, that he knew I was just as lost as he is in his own way.

But I can’t do it. I can’t take that leap. My life is so scripted, so structured. I can’t just insert someone like him into my carefully curated existence.

I shove my phone back into my pocket and grab my jacket. “Get it together, Elliot,” I mutter to myself. I need to focus on what’s important. I need to uphold the Moreau name, keep the family business thriving.

But the thought of Luca lingers in my mind as I step out of the office.

Luca

I’m exhausted by the end of my shift. The diner is busier than usual, a steady stream of customers coming in and out, and I feel like I’m on my feet constantly. The rhythmic clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation create a comforting chaos, but by the time the clock strikes three, I’m ready to collapse.

I slip into the back to grab my bag, grateful for the momentary quiet. As I lean against the cool metal of the lockers, my mind drifts back to Elliot. I still can’t shake the feeling of our encounter. It was just a few moments, but they felt significant like I had touched something real and raw.

“Hey, Luca! You okay?” My friend Sara pokes her head into the break room, concern etched on her face.

“Yeah, just tired,” I reply, forcing a smile. “It was a long shift.”

She steps inside and leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone. You need to take a break.”

“I can’t. The bills won’t pay themselves,” I say, shrugging it off, though a part of me knows she’s right. It’s just hard to justify taking time off when every penny counts.

“Whatever you say, Superman,” she teases, and I chuckle, grateful for her lightheartedness. “But seriously, if you need anything, I’m here. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I appreciate it.” I really do. Sara’s been a good friend, and she understands the struggles we all face.

Once I’m out of the diner, I take a deep breath, the cool air hitting my face like a splash of water. I glance around the street, watching people hustle past, each with their own story. It’s a city of dreams and despair, and sometimes it feels overwhelming.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. Part of me wonders if I should text Elliot, even just to see how he’s doing. But then I hesitate. What if he thinks, t.h.i.n.ks I’m being weird? After all, we barely know each other.