Bystanders at the Alley

This is a memory I accumulated after working as a waiter in a bar for two years - I have seen too many gaffes and ambiguities late at night. I kept my own rules and still entered a fruitless relationship. In the bar at the entrance of the alley, different stories are played in the corner every day. I have seen people drinking to relieve their sorrows, couples talking about love, and passers-by telling secrets to strangers. All along, I was just a bystander wiping glasses and passing drinks, until I met her. She always comes late at night in the middle of the week, wearing a plain skirt, ordering only hot lemonade, and sitting quietly in the corner, not full of emotions like others, just empty. I still saved her a seat, handed her water, and occasionally chatted with her, and gradually became her only familiar face late at night. I knew that she was married and that she just wanted to find a safe place to take a breather. I guarded the waiter's propriety, but I couldn't help but keep her preferences in mind, which became her support during those days. Later, she got her life back on track. On the last day she came to the bar, she said goodbye to me. I smiled and said yes, and I wiped the glass very slowly, without saying I was reluctant to leave. During my days as a waiter, I saw too many people coming and going, and I didn't keep this fruitless relationship, but I still stayed true to my nature and continued to hand a glass of hot water to everyone who needed it late at night in the bar.