AYRA'S POV

“Ayra, Ayra,” a voice pierced through the haze of my sleep.

“Today, aren’t you heading to work?” the voice persisted.

“Melissa?” I mumbled, my mind struggling to surface from the depths of slumber. “You’re back?” I asked groggily, attempting to stretch.

“Yes, and do you know what time it is?” she pressed, yanking the duvet off me.

“Unless you want Mr. Larsson to dock a day off your roster,” she teased, playfully swatting me with a pillow.

After several futile attempts, I finally managed to drag myself out of bed.

“Welcome back. How was the night shift?” I asked as she sat on the bed, preparing to sleep.

“Busy as usual,” she replied, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Have you already taken your bath?” I inquired, noticing she was about to lie down.

“Yes. What's the point of working there if you can’t at least grab a shower?” she murmured, already drifting towards sleep. “Please, make sure to wake me up at 4 PM. I’m not sure I’ll wake up on my own,” she requested, her yawn wide and weary.

“Sure, I will,” I promised.

“Skipping breakfast?” I asked, but she was already asleep.

I rushed to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.

My name is Ayra Malik, and I’m twenty-three. The lady fast asleep in the bedroom is Melissa Shawn, my best friend, roommate, and one of my favorite people. She knows almost everything about me, though not quite everything.

We both work at the city’s top-rated casino. Melissa prefers the night shift for the extra tips at the underground casino, despite coming home every morning utterly spent. I, on the other hand, work in the hotel section. I’d rather avoid the older men’s inappropriate advances—especially the ones old enough to be my father.

After dressing quickly, I left the house, closing the door softly to avoid waking Melissa.

“Morning, Ayra. Ready for work?” greeted Mr. Garrett, our kind landlord, as he tended to his flowers.

“Morning, Mr. Garrett. Had a good night?” I asked, smiling.

“Yes, and you?” he responded as I rummaged through my bag.

“Same,” I replied.

Mr. Garrett is a generous man, though his wife is less so. He has three children: two daughters in high school and a young son who still lives at home.

“Mr. Garrett, here’s our contribution for this week’s water supply,” I said, handing him the money.

“Thanks. Have a nice day at work,” he wished me as I hurried away.

I rushed to the bus station, where my usual ride awaited.

“Good morning, Mr. Alfred,” I greeted the bus driver, a sheepish smile on my face.

“You’re always running late, Ayra,” he noted with a smile.

I didn’t argue; I knew he was right.

Gripping the sturdy bus handle for support, I stood among the crowd. The bus was always packed as we headed to work in the affluent part of town. Most of us held menial jobs—drivers, cleaners, nannies—roles that kept us in the lower echelons of society.

As soon as we arrived at the bus station, I bid Mr. Alfred a quick goodbye and hurried off. The walk from the bus station to my workplace was a kilometer long, a factor that often made me late.

Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I felt the weight of the day ahead as I approached the towering edifice of Eclipse Edge Casino. The vibrant energy of the bustling establishment infused me with a sense of anticipation.

“Good morning, Ayra,” Collins, one of the receptionists, greeted with a playful grin. “Welcome to Eclipse Edge Casino, Ma’am. How may we assist you today?” His cheerful demeanor added warmth to the bustling casino lobby.

“Collins, let me be. I’m already late,” I said with a hurried smile, heading towards the changing room.

“Ayra, always in a rush,” Mr. Larsson, head of the cleaning department, remarked.

“Sorry, Sir,” I replied, knowing I couldn’t keep making excuses.

“The occupant of room fifty-two just checked out. Go clean up,” he instructed before turning to leave, whistling as he scanned the building.

“Good morning, Sir,” Collins greeted him respectfully.

“Morning, Collins,” he replied in a somewhat bossy tone. “Did you prepare the bill correctly for the guest who just checked out?” he asked, his tone expectant.

“Not at all, Sir,” Collins assured him confidently.

“Good,” Mr. Larsson replied, ascending the stairs.

I couldn’t help but smile. Despite being only the head of the cleaning department, Mr. Larsson often acted as if he wielded more authority. It wasn’t his place to question the billing, yet he felt the need to assert himself. Quite amusing, isn’t it?

I swiftly changed into my uniform, secured my apron, donned my black shoes, and gathered my cleaning supplies before heading out.