Ella. She looked radiant. Not just in appearance — though she did glow with confidence — but in energy.
As if she’d been holding her breath for months and had finally exhaled. “Table for one?” I asked with a grin. “Yes,” she replied.
“And… maybe a chat if you’re not too busy?”
After I took her order, I slid into the seat across from her for a few minutes. “You seem… lighter,” I said. Ella laughed softly.
“I feel lighter. I broke up with Colin the day after everything blew up. It was hard, but it felt right.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.
He said I was making a huge mistake. That no one would ‘tolerate my show-off behavior.’ Can you imagine? Tolerate?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What did you say to that?”
“I told him, ‘I don’t want someone who tolerates me. I want someone who sees me and celebrates me.’ And then I hung up.”
“Good for you!” I beamed. “And now?”
“I’m finally doing what I’ve always dreamed of — I applied for a position at a nonprofit working with refugee communities.
They need multilingual translators. It’s perfect for me.”
“That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
Ella’s eyes shone.
“I forgot how much joy I got from language. How it made me feel alive. Colin convinced me it was something to hide.
You reminded me that it’s something to share.”
I reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “The world needs more people who speak with heart — in any language.”
She smiled. “And fewer people who correct ‘gnocchi’ with ‘guh-nocky,’ right?”
We both laughed.
As the kitchen bell rang and I stood to return to my shift, Ella called after me, switching effortlessly between three languages:
“Thank you. Merci. ”
Sometimes, all it takes is a few words — in any language — to remind someone of who they are.
