Rabia moved quickly behind the counter, her hands a blur as she tried to keep up with the rush. The café was unusually busy, and no matter how fast she worked, the line of customers never seemed to shrink. The espresso machine whined as steam hissed from the frother, cups clinked together, and the constant ringing of the register filled the air. Her head throbbed slightly from all the noise, but she had no time to dwell on it.

Her fingers ached from gripping cups and trays, and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple, but she kept going. She had handled rushes before—this was nothing new—but today, it felt harder. Maybe it was the lack of sleep last night. Maybe it was the fact that she had barely had a moment to breathe. Every time she thought she was catching up, another order popped up on the screen, another impatient customer stepped forward, and the weight on her shoulders grew heavier.