At 3 a.m., the city’s hustle and bustle had long since faded into the night, and only the 24-hour convenience store on the corner stood like a solitary island, its warm yellow lights glowing.
Amy pushed open the glass door, and the doorbell rang with a crisp chime. She had just finished a ten-hour night shift at a restaurant, and her legs felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead. She still carried a faint smell of cooking oil, her hair was a bit disheveled, and the exhaustion in her eyes was impossible to hide.
“The usual?” Old Chen behind the register looked up, his graying hair glinting faintly in the light.
“Yeah, a hot Americano and a rice ball,” Amy said, her voice as soft as a sigh.
Old Chen didn’t ask any questions; he skillfully heated the rice ball and poured the coffee. He’d been tending this shop for ten years and had seen too many people like Amy: nurses fresh off the night shift, editors working on deadlines until they were on the verge of collapse, and young people buying hangover soup alone after a night of drinking. A convenience store in the early hours of the morning is a brief sanctuary where city dwellers can shed their armor.
Amy sat on a bar stool by the window, taking small bites of her rice ball. The warm rice slid down her throat like a pair of gentle hands, softly soothing her frayed nerves. Occasionally, a taxi would drive past outside the window; its headlights would sweep across her face before quickly vanishing into the night.
“Why are you here so late today?” Old Chen asked casually as he wiped down the counter.
“I had to work an unexpected shift,” Amy smiled, making no mention of how the manager had given her shift to a relative, nor that her rent was set to go up next week. An adult’s breakdown is always quiet; even complaining feels like a luxury.
Old Chen handed her a tissue: “Wipe your mouth—you’ve got sauce on it.”
Amy took it, and as her fingertips touched the soft tissue, she suddenly felt her eyes sting. She recalled what had happened earlier that day at the restaurant, when a customer had yelled at her, pointing a finger right in her face, because she’d served the wrong dish. All she could do was bow repeatedly in apology, then turn and hide in the kitchen, gritting her teeth to hold back her tears. But right now, in this tiny convenience store, a stranger’s kindness made her feel like things weren’t quite so unbearable after all.
“Old Chen, what are we really doing this for, anyway?” She stared blankly out the window, as if asking Old Chen, yet also asking herself.
Old Chen paused his work and thought carefully for a moment: “For a sense of security, I suppose. Look at that light—no matter how late it gets, it’s always on. People are the same—as long as we keep moving forward, there’s always something to look forward to.”
Amy paused for a moment, then smiled. She finished the last sip of her coffee, tossed the cup into the trash can, and as she stood up, her steps seemed a little lighter.
As she pushed open the door, the night breeze was slightly chilly, but her heart felt warm. She knew that tomorrow would still bring endless bills and never-ending work, but at least for this moment, she had been gently embraced by the light at three in the morning.
The city is vast, and life is hard, but there’s always a light shining just for you.
