The dimmed yellowish light emitting from the old street lamp is the only thing that keeps her from running away in sight. The light gives her this warm feeling that tingles her flimsy heart, passing a little nudge of encouragement to her. It gives her a sense of hope, at least that’s the emotion she deems helpful at the moment.

“You were saying?” The guy in front of her is patiently waiting for her explanation after she stopped him from going home after his shift ended about 8 minutes ago.

“Are you going to say something?” The airy breeze that had sheerly covered them is now gone, along with his patience that has grown thin each minute.

“I like you,” says the girl after speaking in silence for so long.

She looks up to see his eyes already staring at her. She feels anxiously worried, waiting for his response. But to her surprise, he says something unexpected. “I know.”

Happiness comes rushing to her. Even though she’s kind of puzzled by his discovery of her not-so-little crush, she’s more focused on their chance together as a couple more than ever. “Then can we—”

“I’m sorry, but can’t.” His voice holds affirmation of his feelings towards her, leaving no doubts for other meaning.

Heartbroken, the girl just wants to become invisible like oxygen and disappear from human life. She quietly asks why, and his short answer doesn’t disappoint her: “I just don’t like you like that.”

She has worked at the same diner for the last 6 months. It was scary at first when she tried to make small talk with him, knowing his indifferent attitude towards everybody, but after 5 months of work, they finally could talk casually about anything that happened to them.

It was back when she first came to work at the diner in the early morning and she saw him for the first time sitting at one of the booths, holding a book with a latte and a box of strawberries next to him.

He leaned his back so unbothered, flipping one of the pages every so often, sipping his latte and munching a strawberry. At that exact time, she knew he had gotten her attention. Then for the next months, she spent her time getting to know him as a friend.

_Are they even friends? _

She mocks herself for self-titling as his friend. There goes their amicable dynamic that she’s been trying to build for the past months together as friends.

Tomorrow will be awkward, but there is one question that has lingered with her since the first day they met. “Can’t I at least know your real name?”

The diner has its thing, where they set a theme for a short period of time, so the workers there are called by characters’ names.

The girl never knew his name because every time she asked, he would dismissively tell her “it’s Scooby,” or “It’s Peter Pan,” or anything but his real name.

“It’s Joker.”

“But it’s your—”

The Joker only mutters “Yeah, I’m sorry” to her and leaves her to stand alone under a cold old street lamp, wishing she hadn’t asked him in the first place.

“I hope there’s somebody who can cover my shift tomorrow,” she mumbles, starting to leave the spot of her bittersweet rejection.