1. Lost

Ava Sánchez, just eighteen, trudged through New York City's twisted streets, her body worn thin by the relentless grind of survival. Her dark eyes, once lively, now mirrored her exhaustion, and her brown hair, streaked with the city's grime, framed a face drained of color. Hunger and anxiety pressed on her frail shoulders, each step forward a battle against the desperation gnawing at her insides.

Clad in tattered clothes that did little to fend off the city's biting cold, Ava moved through the night, driven by the hollow ache in her stomach. The bustling noise of the city assaulted her ears, a disorienting blend of chaos against the quiet despair she carried. New York's bright lights, so dazzling to others, only heightened her sense of isolation, the vibrant cityscape contrasting her bleak reality.

Poncholes, a high-end restaurant, stood out like a distant oasis amid the urban sprawl. Its warmly lit windows glowed invitingly, casting a golden hue on the street. Soft strains of piano music floated out, a soothing counterpoint to the city's harshness. To Ava, it was more than just a restaurant.

It was a glimpse into a world she had never known yet yearned for with every fiber of her being.

She paused at the entrance, catching her reflection in the glass.

Sunken eyes, dirt-smudged cheeks, clothes clinging to her thin frame.

 Inside, the restaurant was a different universe. Crisp white tablecloths, sparkling crystal, a haven of comfort. Her heart pounded as she hesitated, then pushed the door open.

The warmth and aroma surrounded her immediately. The clinking of silverware was a symphony to her starving ears. She spotted the owner, a distinguished man with quiet authority. His face, lined with age, held a sharpness tempered by kindness. He noticed her the moment she stepped inside, taking in her disheveled appearance.

"Please, sir," Ava's voice trembled. "I need work. I'll do anything...wash dishes, scrub floors, clean toilets, anything."

Jorge, the owner, studied her. Up close, he saw the trembling in her hands and the way her shoulders shook with barely contained emotion as she begged. "When did you last eat?" he asked.

Ava glanced down, shame and hunger making her falter. "I… I don't remember. Yesterday, maybe."

Concern replaced his initial wariness. He motioned to an empty table. "Sit down. I'll get you something to eat first."

Ava hesitated, then sank into the chair, overwhelmed by his unexpected kindness. She watched him disappear into the kitchen, her heart pounding.

 When Jorge returned, he carried a steaming bowl of soup. The scent alone was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"Eat," he said simply, placing the bowl in front of her. She needed no further encouragement. The first spoonful was like a balm to her soul, warming her from the inside out. She ate slowly, savoring each bite, aware of Jorge's eyes on her.

Once the bowl was empty, Jorge leaned forward. "You don't have any identification, do you?"

Ava shook her head. "No, sir. But I'll work hard. I promise."

Jorge nodded. "Alright, you can work here. It'll be under the table until we sort something out."

Ava's breath caught, relief flooding her system. She hadn't expected this.

A chance, a lifeline. 

"Thank you," she whispered through her emotions.

Jorge stood, gesturing for her to follow him. He led her to the back of the restaurant, where the noise and bustle of the kitchen provided a strange comfort. He handed her a clean uniform and directed her to a small bathroom equipped with a shower.

"You can clean up here," he said. "Then we'll get you started."

Ava nodded, clutching the uniform to her chest as she stepped into the bathroom. The hot water scalded her skin, but she didn't care. She scrubbed away the dirt and the grime, letting the tears flow freely. When she emerged, dressed in the uniform that hung slightly loose on her petite frame, she felt a glimmer of something she hadn't dared to feel in a long time.

Hope.

Jorge waited for her with a smile. He handed her an apron. "Welcome to Poncholes, Ava. Let's get to work."

Ava nodded, tying the apron around her waist. "Yes sir, let's."