A Secret Helping Hand
In truth, the woman had no real idea how busy Ain's days truly were. All she vaguely sensed from the boy who visited the alley was that he was always tired, utterly worn out. It wasn't until she left that alley behind and began living at the grocery store that she finally understood his routine.
He was always rushing. She'd still be half-asleep in the early mornings when he'd arrive at the store, immediately setting to work cleaning every corner, straightening the dirty shelves. Only after stocking the empty ones with ingredients would he finally stretch languidly—ahh—then peek into the little room to check if she was awake.
Even after that, there was no rest. He'd deal with the influx of customers, tidy the shelves again, handle another wave of shoppers, and repeat the cycle endlessly. And yet.
"Ain."
When she softly called his name, just wanting to see his face.
"Yeah? Need something?"
There he was, turning around with that gentle smile.
"Hang in there, Ain."
"Thanks. Appreciate it."
He'd flash a slight grin before hurrying off again, his back vanishing into the bustle. The indifferent expression he'd worn back then was gone now, replaced by easy smiles just for her. So the woman thought she wanted to help this boy who toiled from dawn. She'd seen him do these tasks countless times—if she just finished them ahead of him, surely it'd ease his load a little.
With that in mind, she'd rub her eyes and rise before he arrived, sweeping and mopping the floor. Yawning wide—haaam—she'd wipe down the dusty shelves, grunting as she hauled ingredients from the storeroom to fill them. It was clumsy, no doubt, but somehow it ended up looking much like what he'd done. Still, she was slow and wobbly, so by the time she finished, barely any time remained.
Footsteps would start echoing from beyond the store's door—thud thud—and she'd hurriedly wrap up, her messy hair flying as she darted back into the little room—whoosh.
Soon, the door creaked open. Ain, arriving right on time as always, set down his things and began his usual routine. From the narrow gap in the door, she watched quietly.
He grabbed the broom to sweep, only to pause when no dust remained. He tilted his head at the shelves—messily arranged but fully stocked. Scratching his head sheepishly, he let out a small chuckle and turned away.
Toward the little room, exactly as she hoped—the moment she awaited after every task.
She slipped from the door, scampering—pat pat pat—to the bed and feigned sleep. She remembered what he'd said before: good deeds should stay secret. So she pulled the blanket halfway over, squeezed her eyes shut as if innocent, and pretended to snore softly—zzz.
And after waiting a bit.
Creeeak—the door opening.
Thud thud—Ain's footsteps approaching.
And a giggling—hee hee.
Familiar steps drew near, a familiar hand smoothed her tangled hair, gently stroking her forehead.
"...Time to get up."
Maybe this was why she helped—because she loved how he fussed over her. Pretending to sleep until his soft voice called, then slowly opening her eyes. It was one of her few selfish whims. She knew she shouldn't bother the busy boy, but this was her way of indulging the ache a little.
"Yeah, Ain."
Beaming at him, her day began. A beautiful smile that now came quite naturally.
And so the woman grew accustomed to life at the grocery store. After helping with mornings so many times, Ain finally convinced her to learn the work properly. She was slow and weak, stumbling along, but when he praised her—"Good job"—she'd carry the ingredients with firmer steps.
Along the way, she learned polite speech. Why speak differently to customers, to adults? She tilted her head, puzzled.
"Have a good day?"
"...Close, but no."
She couldn't grasp what manners really meant, sticking to that tone endlessly. And she always felt a pang of regret.
"See you Wednesday."
"...Bye, Ain."
Ain wasn't there every day, and she hated missing him two days a week. Before, she'd waited months for a single glimpse, cherishing it. Now, just two days apart left her listless. Was this what they meant by "given then taken feels worse"? Staring blankly, she moped through those lonely days.
She wondered why he left her, wanted to beg him to stay by her side. But fearing he'd resent her even a little, she held back.
So she was alone.
Or not quite.
"Kiddo, time to eat."
"..."
Even without Ain, one person stayed by her side until evening. The big, bearded man Ain called "Uncle" would linger till then, making her warm food. A familiar taste—the same as what Ain always brought.
Yet somehow blander than when Ain served it. It felt heavy, sticking in her throat. She'd stare at the man, then set down her spoon.
"Not tasty?"
"..."
No, it was tasty enough.
"Hm, hang on. I'll make something fresh."
"..."
But she never uttered a word. He tasted it himself, puzzled, then muttered heading to the kitchen.
"Tastes fine to me... Hm, maybe my taste buds are going with age..."
Not seeing it as fussiness, he'd remake the food. Still, she'd poke at a couple bites and stop.
"Ugh... Guess I need to up my cooking game. Sorry it doesn't suit you."
"..."
She stared at him, then abruptly turned away, uncomfortable. In truth, she just wasn't ready to open her heart to anyone but Ain. Or maybe she simply didn't want to talk to anyone else.
Yet he was kind, clearly close to Ain. She couldn't pout openly, just hung her head and stomped her feet—tap tap.
It took a few days, but the uncle finally realized why.
"Should I tell him to work seven days a week?"
"..."
He asked the sulky girl plopped before her meal.
"If it's hard for you to say, I can do it. No issue if he comes daily anyway."
"..."
It tempted her greatly. However he'd guessed, pinpointing her wish felt unfair. She fidgeted, pondered long, then shook her head.
"Hm, not wanting to stick around more?"
"..."
She did. It was fact—her slump was purely from missing Ain. But he had reasons for his days off, and she didn't want her stubbornness interfering.
Her greed could wait for night, when alone, jabbing her arms and thighs to endure.
She glanced at the sheepish uncle scratching his head, then slipped into the little room.
She still feared people approaching. Without faith they wouldn't despise her. She wished no one but Ain would come near.
Yet seeing him puzzle over it through the door crack made her chest tighten oddly.
She didn't yet know what emotion that was.