Miss Doeun Has Social Anxiety (2)
As closing time drew near, the cafe fell quiet.
The order bell that had rung all day, the laughter of the customers — all of it was gone, leaving behind only the shop steeped in the mellow scent of coffee, me, and Ms. Doeun.
Ms. Doeun stood motionless in front of the counter, head bowed deep, her apron still tied on. A stretch of silence drifted by, and then she was the first to speak.
"...Um."
"Yes?"
"...I'm sorry."
An apology again.
"...And."
She took a moment to steady her breathing, then forced the words out.
"...I'll work through today, and then I'm quitting."
"...What?"
"Someone like me... I'd only ever be a burden."
The moment I heard that, I felt I finally understood — why every cafe job written on her resume had been so short.
"...Who said anything about letting you go?"
Ms. Doeun slowly lifted her head.
"But... you said you had something to tell me..."
"I never said I was letting you go."
"...But I can't even serve customers properly."
"..."
"I've made mistake after mistake, and I even broke a cup."
I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Ms. Doeun, who cares about one measly cup?"
"...I'm sorry?"
"It's not like this is some famous restaurant. It's just a neighborhood cafe."
"..."
I set the broom against the wall and went on.
"I don't fire people over a broken cup."
".......Yes."
"If anything, that's not even what I was upset about."
I pointed at her hands.
"You weren't thinking about yourself at all — you tried to clear the broken glass first."
"..."
"A cup can just be bought again."
"......"
"Mistakes happen to everyone."
I paused for a beat, then smiled.
"But a hand, once it's hurt, takes a long time to heal."
"..."
"So from now on, whatever happens, the first person you look after is yourself."
Ms. Doeun couldn't manage a single word. She only went on staring at me, dazed.
"Why... why are you being... so kind to me?"
I answered her with a smile.
"Ms. Doeun."
"...Yes."
"Even watching you for just one day, I could see how hard you work."
"..."
"Memorizing recipes on your breaks, jumping on the cleaning whenever there weren't any customers."
"......"
"Someone like you, Ms. Doeun — someone who learns, who tries — people like that don't come around every day."
For an instant, her lips trembled.
"...Oh."
She wrenched her head down, but she couldn't hide the redness rimming her eyes.
"...Sniff."
Drip. A single tear dropped onto her apron.
"...Oh, I'm sor—"
Before she could even finish, the tears came pouring out.
"......"
I said nothing at all.
What she needed right then, I believed, wasn't more words of comfort piled on top — it was time. The kind that says it's okay to cry.
I was never much of a talker, even back in high school. My voice shook whenever I had to present in class, and just striking up a conversation with someone I didn't know sent my heart pounding.
Maybe it was that timid nature of mine — I never had a single friend I could call close, and little by little, I ended up alone.
Even so, I believed.
'Maybe things will change once I get to college.'
A new environment. New people. This time I would be the one to say hello first. I'd join a club. And maybe...
'Maybe I could even get a boyfriend.'
I clung to that vague hope, too. But reality refused to match it.
"Hello."
"...Oh, h-hello..."
Even when someone greeted me first, nothing ever came after it. Conversations that died in a breath never picked back up, and one by one, my classmates stopped trying to talk to me altogether.
And so, by the time first semester was drawing to a close, there was no one to eat with, and no one to text.
"Doeun, honey, are you having fun at college?"
A weekend call from Mom.
"...Yeah."
"Have you made a lot of friends?"
"...Yeah. Lots of good ones."
After we hung up, I sat there staring at my phone for the longest time.
I lied because I didn't want my parents worrying over me on top of everything else. But every time I told that lie, I felt myself shrinking a little smaller — and so I quietly hugged my knees to my chest.
In the end, I chose to take a leave of absence.
I thought that if I rested from school, I'd get better. I thought that given time, things would change. But nothing changed at all, and just like that, I spent months drifting through days that meant nothing.
'...This can't go on.'
Locked away in my room, it felt like nothing would ever truly change. So this time, I worked up my courage one more and decided to try something that would put me around people.
'...Let me at least try a part-time job.'
At my very first part-time interview, I passed more easily than I'd expected — maybe thanks to my neat, presentable looks.
"Don't be nervous, okay?"
"Yes...!"
My enthusiasm burned brighter than anyone's. I memorized the recipes, studied coffee, and jotted down the closing procedures in my notepad, item by item.
For a total beginner, it all came to my hands surprisingly well.
"Are you really new at this? You're so good~"
When the manager praised me, I truly believed that I, too, could change.
But.
"...One Americano, please..."
"I can't hear you."
"...I'm sorry."
"How can you freeze up like that in front of a customer?"
"I'm... sorry."
"How do you expect to work in service, being this timid?"
"...I'm sorry."
No one ever tore into me. Almost nobody even raised their voice. But as the days that ended in apologies piled up, I felt myself growing smaller and smaller.
'I'm sorry.'
At some point, apologizing first whenever anything happened had become sheer habit.
And so — the first cafe.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think you're a good fit for us."
The second cafe.
"You do good work, Doeun, but... you're just too timid. I'm sorry."
The third cafe.
"...I'm sorry."
In the end, I was the one who said I'd quit. I figured they'd let me go soon enough anyway — I never lasted a single month at any of them.
After that, even writing out a resume terrified me.
'This time will be just the same.'
'I'll only end up in the way again.'
Still — just once more. Just one final time, telling myself that this truly was the last, the place I brought myself to was this one.
Cafe Fluffy.
A cafe famous enough that everyone in the neighborhood had heard of it at least once.
The first faces I met were the two owners.
'...They suit each other.'
Even in the middle of my nerves, that was the first thought I had.
The interview ran longer than I'd expected. Maybe because of my work history — as I watched the two of them talk things over and over, my anxiety only swelled.
But then—
"Would it be all right with you if we tried having you work with us for a month first?"
That one line.
It sounded like a promise to give me one more chance.
Walking home that day, I made up my mind. This time, this once — I would really, truly give it everything I had.
The next day, I arrived at the cafe a little earlier than my shift. I couldn't afford to be late, so I checked the time again and again before finally pushing the door open.
The manager was far warmer than I'd imagined. He never snapped at me even when I messed up, and though he watched me struggle with the customers, I never once saw even a flicker of frustration on his face.
The owners were the same. They always smiled first, telling me it was all right, doing their best to ease the tension out of me.
'...Let's really work hard.'
Somehow, I thought — here, in this place, with these people — even I might be able to change, just a little.
But.
Just like always.
In the end.
Again.
I went and ruined everything.
CRASH—!!
My heart plummeted.
'Oh no.'
"...I'm sorry."
Again. Once again, I'd made trouble for everyone.
With that one thought — clear the glass in front of me — I reached out blindly, and at that very moment—
"...Ha Doeun!"
The manager's voice cut through the air.
When I came back to myself, my hand had frozen just above the broken glass. Even a second later, and I might have sliced my palm wide open.
"...You're not hurt, are you?"
A voice that worried about me before anything else.
Normally it would have been different. 'What do you think you're doing.''Try being more careful.' Words like those.
But the manager looked at my hand before he looked at the cup.
And somehow, that made it hurt all the more.
I hated myself — mistake-prone, useless me — so much that in the end, I fled from where I stood.
As closing time approached, the manager told me to go inside to the owners first.
'...So this is where they let me go.'
I had more than enough reason. I'd done nothing but make mistakes since day one, and I'd broken a cup on top of it all. It was an ending I knew by heart by now.
Once only the two of us were left in the shop, a quiet, heavy silence settled over us.
'...Is it hard for him to find the words?'
I didn't want to keep him lingering over me for nothing.
"...I'll work through today, and then I'm quitting."
"...What?"
"Someone like me... I'd only ever be a burden."
The moment I turned to walk away after saying it—
"...Who said anything about letting you go?"
My footsteps stopped. Slowly, I looked back over my shoulder.
"I never said I was letting you go."
My mind went white. None of it made sense.
"...But I can't even serve customers."
"I've made mistake after mistake, and I even broke a cup."
Even at my self-mocking words, the manager simply smiled.
"Ms. Doeun, who cares about one measly cup?"
"A cup can just be bought again."
"Mistakes happen to everyone."
"But a hand, once it's hurt, takes a long time to heal."
He gazed at me for a moment, then added,
"So from now on, whatever happens, the first person you look after is yourself."
...Why.
Before I knew it, my mouth had opened on its own.
"...Why."
"Why are you being... so kind to me?"
The manager didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat.
"Someone like you, Ms. Doeun — someone who learns, who tries — people like that don't come around every day."
The moment I heard those words, every last thing anyone had ever said to me went flashing through my mind.
"When someone calls you, answer them."
"What good will you be if you're that timid?"
"You're just too timid, Doeun... I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can have you work with us."
Failure.
Failure.
Failure again.
The answer I'd always been handed was only ever that.
And yet, for the very first time, someone looked past my failures and saw my effort.
He didn't speak of what I couldn't do — he spoke of what I had done.
"...Hh..."
"...Sniff..."
I tried to hold it in. I truly, desperately did.
But that one sentence — it felt like the first time in my life anyone had ever recognized the time I'd spent, all those years that no one had ever acknowledged.
The tears wouldn't stop.