The next day, Celina slipped back into her routine. She woke up early, got ready quickly, and caught the subway to the literary café. Now living on the edge of Queens, the commute was longer and a little draining, but she was determined. Her morning shift passed as usual—regular customers, brief conversations, endless cappuccinos and croissants. After work she went home, ate something simple, and tried to rest before writing.

Despite her fatigue, she sat in front of the laptop for about an hour. She couldn’t film a video that day—her body begged for rest and her mind wandered—but she still felt satisfied for not letting the writing slide. It was her way of staying true to her dream.

By late afternoon she was dressing for another shift at the elegant restaurant in Brooklyn. She put on the black uniform, pulled her hair back, dabbed on a neutral lipstick as usual, and boarded the subway with her headphones in, listening to a podcast on contemporary women’s literature.

When she arrived,