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I believe it is common for some employees to frequently glance at their watches as their shift approaches its end. I was one of them.

I had no intention of extending my shift because I had reached my limit for the day. Working 12 hours for three consecutive days, with another 12-hour shift scheduled for the next day, had left me completely exhausted.

Yosef, the store owner, didn't mind, though. Having two employees to handle the shop during the quiet hours was enough: one in the kitchen and the other multitasking between the payment counter and the kebab station.

I worked at Al-Safar, a small Middle Eastern eatery located on the bustling streets of Curry Mile in Manchester. It was a favorite among people regardless of the season. The busiest time was usually in September when college and university students from all over the world returned for the new term. During Eid, the shop would be filled with customers until past midnight. Other than that, business would slow down in the late afternoon, gradually picking up by sunset and reaching its peak between 8:00 PM and 10:00 PM. After midnight, it would gradually quiet down to almost empty.

Before this job, I had various work experiences over the course of five years in Malaysia, ranging from blue-collar, white-collar, rounded collar and no collar jobs. But none of them could compare to what I earned at Al-Safar in terms of wages.

To be fair, it wasn't quite fair to compare my earnings at Al-Safar with my previous jobs, as most of them were in Malaysia where the Malaysian Ringgit (RM) has a lower value compared to the British Pound Sterling (£). The cost of living in Kuala Lumpur is skyrocketing, and you get paid peanuts for a 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM job!

The hourly wage of £5.00 at Al-Safar was decent, but when you dedicated yourself to this shack for 12 hours a day, received free meals during your shift, and were occasionally asked to work on your days off if the store got busy, you would be able to save a lot by the end of the month.

This was my regular routine, which may seem like a heartless regime, but I willingly accepted it without complaint. Since I joined the team illegally without a work permit, Yosef had the authority to determine my wage rate and schedule at his discretion. However, he was a kind man. If the store was less busy or if I needed time off, he would let me leave early and still pay me in full. Otherwise, I might have suffered an emotional and physical breakdown if Yosef pushed me to the limit all the time.

I didn't plan to do this forever; I needed a proper career path. At my age of 29, most people are already in charge of something. That's why I enrolled myself in Manchester University, pursuing a part-time degree, so that one day I could also become a person in charge.

When I shared my decision with my grandfather, he was thrilled. He fully funded my tuition fees, accommodation, and monthly allowance, which he wired to me every month. He wasn't wealthy, but I suppose he didn't know where else to invest his retirement money, so he chose to invest in me, his only remaining family member, since my parents and brother tragically died in a car accident at Banff National Park, Canada, involving a trailer and a caribou.

Although my grandfather's generosity touched my heart, I wasn't comfortable taking advantage of his charity. If Yosef allowed me to work at Al-Safar on days when I didn't have classes, presentations, or exams, I would be content.

When the clock on the wall struck midnight, I joined the rest.

"Moss ln. now," I received a text from my best friend, Abs, letting me know where he was at that moment: Moss Lane.

"Aight, c u in 5," I texted back.

I gazed up at the clear late autumn midnight sky, a rarity in England known for its rainy weather regardless of the season. I felt a glimmer of hope for a rain-free night, as I doubted my Superdry jacket could withstand heavy downpours.

In the distance, I spotted Abs leaning against a walled fence at the corner of Heald Place. His silhouette was illuminated by the bright light of his iPhone, making it easy for me to identify him on the dimly lit pavement.

Abs and I, Abdollah Ahmadzadeh, had been friends since our days in sixth form, representing Rochdale College in inter-county dodgeball. Our bond grew stronger as we shared the common experience of losing our parents.

With his charming face and well-defined abs, Abs earned his nickname and was often mistaken for a gym enthusiast. He had his fair share of flings, some of which I knew about, while others remained a mystery. But as the quintessential prince charming, I imagined he would end up with a runway model, perhaps even one of the Hadid sisters.

As for me, I prided myself on being a tough cookie and embraced that identity. Delicacy and femininity didn't quite suit me. I held onto the belief of "If he can do it, so can I," with a sprinkle of "I don't give a fuck." Still, I secretly wished that Abs would be attracted to someone like me, someone who rocked trainers, loose-fitting jumpers, and boyfriend jeans, without relying on a multitude of cosmetics. Alas, it remained a wishful thinking.

Abs sensed my presence as I approached, looking up at me with a sly grin. "Hey, you alright, mate?"

"Doing cool, man. How about you?" I raised my knuckles for a friendly fist bump.

"I'm alright," he replied, reciprocating the fist bump.

"What are your plans for the weekend?" I asked as we walked side by side toward his flat.

"Me dad was planning to visit, but I told him I have a game night with the boys," he answered nonchalantly.

"Are they bringing along some reefers?" I teased.

"The best in town," Abs chuckled.