Chapter 4:Unwanted Attention

Helen slipped out of the little flat she shared with her baby boy, John, and tugged her thin cardigan tighter around her shoulders. The early morning air carried a slight chill, a warning that the seasons were beginning to shift. It was still dark outside, the streetlights flickering uncertainly, as if hesitant to let the sunrise appear.

She glanced back at the window where John lay, her frail elderly neighbor, Mrs. Greene, watching over him. It was the best she could manage, even if the arrangement was far from perfect.

Even for just a few hours, Helen's heart ached at the thought of leaving her son, but she had no choice. The bills were piling up, and the little money she had saved was almost gone. Everything cost money—rent, diapers, baby formula—and she alone was responsible for making sure John had all he needed.

After a short bus ride, she arrived at a small café in the middle of the city. It wasn't a fancy place, but it was busy enough for her to hope they might need an extra pair of hands. She straightened her top, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the door.

The rich aroma of fresh coffee and warm pastries filled the air. A few customers sat at small round tables, some scrolling through their phones, others engaged in quiet conversation. Behind the counter, a woman in her late forties worked the espresso machine with practiced ease.

Helen approached the counter, offering a polite smile.

"Excuse me, are you hiring?"

The woman—her nametag read *Marianne*—studied her briefly.

"Do you have experience?"

Helen hesitated. "Not officially, but I've worked a lot in kitchens and done some waitressing here and there."

Marianne seemed to consider this for a moment, then exhaled through her nose.

"We could use another pair of hands for the morning shift. Not every day, but often enough. Can you start now?"

Relief flooded Helen.

"Yes, absolutely."

Marianne handed her an apron and quickly went over the menu before setting her to work taking orders and wiping tables. The first hour flew by in a rush. Though she stumbled a few times and nearly spilled a cappuccino on a businessman's laptop, she managed to keep up.

Then *he* walked in.

A tall man strode in confidently, an insolent smirk on his face. Though well-dressed, there was something in his eyes that made Helen uneasy. She had encountered men like him before—the kind who thought the world owed them something, who took whatever they wanted without a second thought.

He took a seat near the window and snapped his fingers to get her attention.

Helen approached with stiff politeness, her jaw tight.

"Good morning. What can I get for you?"

His gaze swept over her slowly, considering.

"Coffee. Black."

She turned to leave, but he spoke again, making her pause.

"You new here?"

Keeping her tone even, she replied, "I just started today."

He leaned back in his chair, smiling.

"I like that. Fresh faces keep things interesting."

Helen said nothing and walked to the counter to place his order. She wasn't interested in whatever game he was playing.

When she returned with his coffee, he smirked.

"Sweetheart, you got a name?"

Ignoring the question, she set the cup down.

"Anything else?"

He chuckled, as if amused by her defiance.

"You always this cold, or is it just me?"

Helen inhaled sharply.

"Drink your coffee."

She turned to walk away, but before she could, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. His grip wasn't tight, but it was enough to make her entire body go rigid.

"Don't be like that," he said smoothly, holding firm. "I'm just trying to have a conversation."

Helen yanked her arm free and stepped back.

"Don't touch me."

A few nearby customers had taken notice of the exchange. Behind the counter, Marianne glanced over, her eyes narrowing.

The man smirked, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Relax, sweetheart. No need to make a scene."

Helen's patience snapped.

"I'm not your sweetheart. And if you touch me again, you'll regret it."

His expression darkened slightly, the amusement fading from his eyes.

"Feisty."

Before things could escalate, Marianne stepped in.

"Is there a problem here?"

The man raised his hands in mock innocence.

"Not at all. Just a little misunderstanding."

Helen wasn't about to start a full-blown confrontation in the middle of the café, though every part of her wanted to. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, her pulse racing.

For the next half-hour, she tried to focus on her work, but she could feel his gaze lingering on her. Finally, he stood up to leave, tossing a generous tip onto the table along with a note.

*No hard feelings. The name's Paul.*

Helen stared at the note for a long moment before crumpling it in her fist.

It was too late.

The damage was already done.

Trying to shake the unsettling feeling creeping up her spine, Helen shoved the crumpled note into her apron pocket. The café bustled around her—customers coming and going, conversations blending into an indistinct hum—but she couldn't concentrate. Her hands trembled slightly as she wiped down a table, her mind replaying her encounter with Paul.

The way he had looked at her. The way he had grabbed her wrist.

She despised men like him. Men who thought they could cross lines without consequences.

Helen inhaled deeply, forcing herself to keep going. This job was too important to risk. She couldn't let one arrogant man ruin it. But as the hours passed, she kept glancing toward the door, half-expecting Paul to return.

Finally, her shift ended. She let out a slow breath as she untied her apron. Marianne approached as she clocked out.

"Are you okay?"

Helen hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Marianne didn't look convinced. "He won't bother you again," she said firmly. "But if he does, you tell me."

Helen managed a small smile. "Thanks."

The late afternoon sun made her squint as she stepped outside. She had barely started toward the bus stop when a voice called out behind her.

"Leaving so soon?"

Her stomach turned.

She spun around to see Paul leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, the same smug grin on his lips.

Her pulse quickened. "Are you following me?"

He let out a low chuckle. "Relax. It's a public street."

Helen's hands curled into fists. "Then stay away from me."

Paul pushed off the lamppost, his movements slow and deliberate. "You misunderstood me, honey."

"Stop calling me that."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, Helen."

The sound of her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine.

"I was going to apologize for earlier," he said, his voice casual. "Didn't mean to upset you."

Helen stared at him, searching for sincerity. All she saw was arrogance.

"It's too late," she said flatly. "Just leave me alone."

He exhaled sharply, as if annoyed by her resistance. "Do you always make things this difficult?"

"Men like you always do," she shot back.

Something flickered across his face—anger, maybe—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by another grin.

"Suit yourself," he said. "For the record, I was just being friendly."

Helen turned on her heel and walked away without another word.

She kept her shoulders squared, her pace steady, but her pulse hammered in her ears. Even without looking, she could feel his gaze lingering on her.

It was only when she reached the bus stop and boarded the crowded vehicle that she finally let herself breathe.

Men like Paul were all too familiar to her.

And she knew one thing for certain.

This wasn't over.

---

Sitting by the bus window, Helen clenched the edge of her coat as the city lights blurred past. She tried to steady her breathing, but the tension from earlier still knotted her chest. Paul's voice echoed in her ears, his smirk burned into her memory.

Men like him always thought they could do whatever they pleased.

Her hands tightened into fists on her lap. She had known plenty of men like Paul—the entitled, overconfident type who believed charm could get them anything. Different faces, different places, same behavior.

But she wasn't the same woman she had once been.

She refused to let Paul intimidate her.

As soon as the bus reached her stop, she hurried off, adjusting the strap of her worn-out bag over her shoulder. The apartment complex she shared with John wasn't much—peeling paint, a broken elevator that hadn't worked in weeks—but it was home.

Mrs. Greene, her elderly neighbor, was already at the door rocking John gently.

The moment she stepped inside, John stretched his little hands toward her, fingers opening and closing eagerly.

"Mummy's here, darling," she whispered, scooping him up. The warmth of his tiny body against hers eased some of her tension.

Mrs. Greene studied her closely. "You look troubled."

Helen forced a small smile. "Just a long day."

The older woman sighed knowingly. "It's never easy for young mothers."

Helen shook her head and pressed a soft kiss to John's forehead. "Not at all."

Mrs. Greene patted her shoulder. "You're strong, Helen. You'll get through this."

Helen nodded as she bolted the door behind her. But deep in her chest, the unease still lingered.

She wanted to believe today was just an unfortunate run-in.

But something inside whispered that this wasn't over.

---

Helen woke the next morning to John's soft coos. His bright eyes were already open, little feet kicking excitedly.

She smiled at him, letting his innocence melt away some of yesterday's stress.

After feeding him and getting ready, she brought him next door to Mrs. Greene. The older woman accepted him with a warm smile.

"Okay, little one," she cooed, bouncing him gently. "Be good for Granny."

Helen kissed John's chubby cheek before hurrying off.

Her shift at the café started a little earlier than usual. Marianne was already behind the counter, handling the morning rush.

"You're early," Marianne noted as Helen tied her apron.

Helen shrugged. "Figured I'd get a head start."

Marianne nodded approvingly before handing her a tray of coffee cups. "Good. We're swamped."

Grateful for the distraction, Helen threw herself into work. She focused on taking orders, wiping tables, avoiding unnecessary interactions.

Then she felt it.

That prickling at the back of her neck.

She turned, her stomach knotting.

Paul stood at the counter, arms crossed, watching her.

Their eyes met, and a slow smirk stretched across his face.

Helen clenched her jaw. She had hoped he wouldn't come back. Yesterday should have been enough to send him on his way.

But luck had never been on her side.

Grabbing a coffee pot, she walked to a table, pretending not to see him. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd leave.

Paul, however, wasn't the kind of man to be ignored.

"Morning, sweetheart," he drawled as he stepped closer.

Helen stiffened but kept working.

Loud enough for her to hear, he asked, "Still mad?"

Her hand jerked. The coffee pot clattered onto the counter, startling a nearby customer. Helen mumbled an apology, then spun toward Paul.

"I told you not to call me that," she snapped.

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Touchy, aren't we?"

Helen folded her arms. "Why are you here?"

He chuckled. "For coffee, obviously."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're harassing me."

His grin widened. "Strong word. I'd call it playful."

"Leave."

"Not before my coffee."

Helen exhaled sharply, her fists clenching. Marianne, sensing the tension, stepped beside her.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, her voice tight.

Paul flashed her his most charming smile. "No problem at all. Just ordering my usual."

Marianne didn't look convinced but forced a polite smile. "Please take a seat. Someone will bring your order shortly."

Paul winked at Helen before strolling to a corner table.

Helen's blood boiled.

Marianne leaned in. "Do you know him?"

Helen hesitated, then nodded. "He was here yesterday. He's bothering me."

Marianne's expression hardened. "Tell me if he causes trouble. I don't tolerate nonsense in my café."

Helen appreciated the support, but something told her Paul wouldn't just walk away.

She tried to ignore him. Another waitress took his order, and for a brief moment, she hoped he'd get bored and leave.

Then, as she turned a corner, she nearly collided with him.

She gasped, stepping back.

Paul smirked. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Helen's heart pounded. "What do you want?"

He shrugged. "Just wanted to apologize."

She narrowed her eyes. "Apologize?"

He nodded. "For grabbing your wrist. Got carried away."

"And today?"

His smirk deepened. "I just like seeing you flustered."

Her fists clenched. "You're disgusting."

He laughed. "Relax, sugar. I'm just messing with you."

Helen shoved past him.

She wouldn't let him win.