Chapter 4 - Day 7
The sun peeked gently through the window that morning, as if to announce that the world outside was still alive, still turning. The doctor stood at the doorway of his clinic, coat on, arms folded. He glanced back inside.
"Sylvie," he called.
The girl peeked her head out from the back room, already alert.
"Yes, Master?"
"I'm heading out. Want to come again?"
Sylvie hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."
She quickly put on her shoes—the ones he bought her a few days ago—and walked to his side.
This time, they took the doctor's usual route through town. The roads were familiar to him, etched into memory like muscle reflexes. But for Sylvie, each turn still held a kind of timid curiosity. She stayed close, eyes darting around.
Then, she stopped.
The doctor noticed her falling behind and turned.
"Sylvie?"
She was standing in front of a modest restaurant, not too fancy, not run-down either. A warm, savory scent wafted from the entrance—grilled meats, spices, and something sweet in the air. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the wooden doors.
He followed her gaze, then looked back at her.
Without saying a word, he gently grabbed her hand.
"Come on."
"Eh—?"
He led her into the restaurant.
The warmth inside was immediate, both in temperature and atmosphere. The walls were decorated with hanging flowerpots and wooden panels, and laughter floated through the air from a nearby table. A cheerful waitress with short orange hair approached them, her apron tied a bit lopsided.
"Welcome! Table for two?"
"Yes," the doctor said.
"Alrighty! Please wait just a moment!"
After a short wait, they were led to a corner table by the window. The doctor sat first, then Sylvie carefully slid into the seat across from him, her posture straight and unsure.
He picked up the menu, flipping through it casually.
Sylvie stared at hers like it was a puzzle.
He glanced up and smirked. "You stopped in front of this place, didn't you?"
Sylvie blinked.
"I noticed. You looked like you were interested, and I smelled it too. Figured you wanted to try."
Sylvie looked down. Her hands tightened slightly over the menu.
"…Do I really deserve this?" she whispered.
The doctor didn't say anything right away.
Then he gave her a small smile.
"I didn't ask that."
Sylvie looked surprised. A moment passed, and she returned her gaze to the menu.
He ordered his meal quickly—something warm and filling.
Then he turned to her.
"What about you?"
She hesitated, then slowly looked through the pages again. Her brows furrowed slightly in focus.
That's when it hit him.
"You can read?"
Sylvie looked up. "Yes… I was taught a long time ago. Before…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
The doctor nodded, pretending not to notice her voice trailing off.
After a minute of careful reading, Sylvie placed a finger against a small section on the dessert page.
"…I want this," she said.
He leaned over to glance. "Strawberry cake?"
She gave a small nod.
He raised an eyebrow. "Not what I expected, but alright."
The waitress returned soon after, took their order with a cheerful smile, and disappeared into the kitchen.
As they waited, the doctor rested his elbows on the table.
"So," he said, casually, "have you ever been in a place like this before?"
Sylvie shook her head. "No… Never."
He tilted his head. "Not even once?"
"I used to eat outside… in the dirt. With other slaves."
The words were spoken flatly, without bitterness. As if she had accepted it.
He didn't respond. There was no right way to respond to that.
A few more minutes passed, then the food arrived.
A steaming bowl of stew for the doctor.
And for Sylvie, a small, delicate plate—perfectly presented, with a slice of fluffy strawberry cake, drizzled with syrup and topped with cream.
She stared at it for a moment, as though it were some rare treasure.
Then, with gentle hands, she picked up the spoon.
Her first bite was small.
The moment the sweetness hit her tongue, her eyes widened.
Then slowly… her lips curled into a smile.
Not the nervous kind she sometimes forced when thanking him. But a real, unguarded smile.
She let out a tiny, muffled sound as she chewed—something between delight and a shy hum. Her cheeks puffed slightly as she ate, and her eyes sparkled with every bite.
The doctor paused, watching her.
How did she end up like this? he wondered. Who would take someone like her and treat her like a thing?
But those thoughts faded quickly.
He was used to not asking questions. That was how he survived.
He picked up his spoon and began to eat.
For now, this was enough.
She was safe. She was smiling.
That was enough.
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To Be Continue