The criticism was disguised as a joke, but Julia, who was passing by, felt the words like poorly wrapped daggers. And although she knew it wasn’t her place to defend anyone, her stomach sank with every word. That night, during dinner, Julia approached his table again, not out of protocol, but because something was pushing her. She placed a plate in front of him that wasn’t hers to carry.
Kenji looked at her gently. This time she said nothing, just looked at him for a second with a firm but serene expression, as if she were saying, “You’re not alone here.” Turning around, she heard a woman’s low voice behind her. “Did you see the waitress? What’s she doing talking to him like they were friends?” The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit, not out of shame, but out of helplessness.
In that room, she would never be seen as anything more than a server. And yet, she had just done something no one there had been able to do: speak to him, listen to him. That night, as the DJ took over the music and the lights dimmed, Julia knew something was stirring.
Not in the room, but in her, and in him too. Kenji looked up one last time at the dance floor, where couples were dancing without inviting him, without even considering it, and in that moment their eyes met again. She, without thinking, made a gesture that seemed like a silent invitation, barely perceptible, almost unforgivable for someone like her in that context.
He didn’t move, but he didn’t lower his gaze. The balance of the party was beginning to tip, and no one knew it yet. The music changed. The DJ replaced the boleros with a soft instrumental version of a romantic classic. The dance floor cleared a bit, giving way to the older couples, who embraced with slow, ceremonial movements.
It was the most emotional moment of the night. Photos, suppressed laughter, lukewarm applause. Julia was still working, but her mind was elsewhere. Kenji hadn’t moved since he arrived. He’d been sitting for over three hours, observing a world that didn’t want him there. No one had spoken to him, no one had invited him to dance.
And yet, he remained straight-backed as if he didn’t need any of that, as if silently enduring the discomfort of being different, a foreigner, alone. But she couldn’t take it anymore. With her heart pounding in her chest and her throat closed, Julia approached their table once more, this time without a tray, without excuses, just her in front of him.
Kenji looked at her with a mixture of surprise and relief, and then she spoke in Japanese, her voice trembling but determined. “Would you like to dance with me?” The silence was immediate. They hadn’t even raised their voices, but something in the atmosphere seemed to freeze. He stared at her, as if doubting he’d understood correctly. Now, he asked, without moving.
Julia nodded. She didn’t know why she was doing it. She wasn’t trying to impress. It wasn’t an act of rebellion. She just felt that no one else would do it, and that leaving him there would only be allowing a small but cruel injustice. Kenji hesitated. His hands trembled slightly, but he stood up. Their steps toward the dance floor were slow, careful.
No one noticed them at first, but when they reached the edge of the circle of dancers, eyes began to turn. A waitress and the Japanese millionaire were dancing. The music continued, but conversations gradually faded, as if something didn’t fit into the perfect picture of that evening. Julia didn’t dance like a professional, but her steps were sincere.
She looked into Kenji’s eyes with a tenderness that didn’t seek anything in return. Kenji, for his part, moved his feet awkwardly, but with dignity. They didn’t dance well, but they danced. And for a moment, a brief, fragile, beautiful one, it seemed that the world accepted them. People looked at them, yes, but without speaking. Some with amazement, others with a kind of respectful curiosity.
There was something poetic about that scene. Even the DJ, without knowing why, kept the song going for a few seconds longer. Julia smiled. Kenji barely smiled too. It was the first time that night, and for a moment she believed everything would be okay, that this small act was enough to bridge the gap, that the barrier between them and us could be broken with a single dance.
But then a burst of laughter pierced the air. “What’s this?” someone said near the bar. Another, louder voice. “Look at that, the waitress and the millionaire. All that’s left is for her to kiss him to earn the tip.” And then, like a spark on gasoline, the murmurs turned into whispers. The laughter grew, the looks turned harsh, not from everyone, but from enough.
Julia felt the blow, not physical, but internal. A lash of shame that ran up her spine and burned her face. Kenji stopped the movement, looked at her. There was something different in her eyes. Now it wasn’t anger, it was a kind of silent disappointment, not at her, at the world. Julia lowered her gaze, took a step back.
“Sorry,” she murmured now in Spanish, and left. She walked quickly toward the kitchen, ignoring the voices, ignoring the orders of her boss, who was already approaching with a frown. She needed to disappear. In that instant, she wished she hadn’t done anything. False victory. False moment. The party continued, but something had broken, and Kenji sat back down. Alone again.
The kitchen was small, hot, and full of noise, but in that moment, for Julia, it was a refuge. She placed her hands on the steel table and lowered her head. The sweat on her forehead mingled with shame. She breathed heavily, as if she had run for miles. Her heart pounded in her ears. She wanted to disappear. What did I do? she thought.
What was she thinking? Not even two minutes passed before Álvaro stormed in, not shouting, but with a gaze as sharp as a knife. “Can you explain what that was?” he said in a low voice, but with a fury that burned through her skin. Julia tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Do you know how that makes us stand in front of the client, in front of the event owners, dancing with a guest?” The strangest one, too. She looked at him without defending herself.
She had no way to explain what she’d felt. She had no words to justify something that to everyone else seemed senseless. Go home now. I’ll take care of closing your shift, but there are still two hours left. Never mind. Go. The sentence was a verdict. Without further ado, Julia hung up her apron, picked up her bag, and walked out the back door.
