THE MEAL AT TABLE FOUR
Chapter I: The Candlelit Table and the Staff Plate
Outside the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows of L’Aura, rain cascaded down the glass against the glittering backdrop of the city skyline. Inside the high-end establishment, brass sconces cast a warm, ambient glow over polished marble floors, crisp white linen, and wealthy patrons sipping vintage wine.
Sitting at a small wooden table near the glass was an elderly man who looked entirely out of place.
He wore a tattered, oil-stained denim jacket, frayed work trousers, and scuffed combat boots. His face was weathered and lined with deep fatigue, his hands shaking slightly as he rested them against the placemat beside a single flickering candle.
Approaching the table was Leo, a nineteen-year-old junior server dressed in a clean dark-green collared shirt and tan apron. Carefully balancing a white porcelain plate containing a grilled chicken breast, roasted baby carrots, and steamed broccoli, Leo set the hot dinner gently in front of the old man.
"Here you go, sir," Leo said with a warm, respectful smile.
The man looked up, his pale blue eyes widening with disbelief. "Son... are you sure? I don't have enough to pay for this."
"Don't worry about it," Leo whispered. "Eat while it's warm."
The elderly man picked up the fork with trembling fingers, taking his first bite of hot food in days.