CHAPTER- 37

                                    

                                          
Iris POV:
Here I am, trying to enjoy my lunch in the quiet corner of the restaurant where all the staff hang out. 
It's a little refuge, a spot where I can just breathe, away from the prying eyes and the constant buzz of the kitchen. 
The familiar hum of chatter fills the air, blending with the clinking of cutlery and the soft whir of the ceiling fans above. 
My plate of food is steaming, a simple meal that should be comforting, but my appetite is nowhere to be found.
I can feel their eyes on me—Jeremy and his buddies—watching me from across the room. 
Their gaze is almost palpable, a heavy, unwelcome presence that makes the air around me feel thicker, more oppressive. 
Clearly expecting me to look devastated or sad or desperate enough to try and talk to him. 
But they're wrong. Idiots.
I focus on my food, trying to ignore the knot of tension tightening in my stomach. 
Gosh, can't I work anywhere without being embarrassed? 
It's like no matter where I go, I can't escape the feeling of being under a microscope, of everyone waiting for me to trip up.
I pull out my phone, hoping for a distraction, and see a message from Quinn asking me to buy eggs. 
I sigh and put my phone away, pushing the thought to the back of my mind. I'll deal with it later.
Before I can take another bite, Caleb suddenly appears out of nowhere, his presence jolting me out of my thoughts. 
"Iris," he says, his voice carrying a casual confidence that makes my stomach twist even tighter. 
I feel the air grow a little colder, the knot in my stomach pulling tighter as I try to figure out what he wants.
My eyes dart down to my plate, suddenly finding my food incredibly fascinating, as if it holds the secrets of the universe. 
"Are you afraid of me, Iris?" he asks, his tone light but probing. The question hangs in the air, loaded with implications.
I shake my head, trying to play it cool, but inside, I'm freaking out.
He extends his hand toward me, offering friendship as if it's the easiest thing in the world. 
His gesture is so casual, so confident, that it catches me off guard. 
My heart skips a beat, and I hesitate, feeling the familiar awkwardness creep in. 
My mind races, trying to piece together a response, but all I can think about is how ridiculous this feels.
"Friends," he repeats, his tone still confident, as if he's already decided for both of us.
Gosh, before I even approach anyone, I have to write a script in my mind, re-read it a thousand times, and rehearse it before I can even think about talking to them. 
And here he is, just tossing out the word like it's nothing.
Finally, I force myself to shake his hand, my fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. 
I feel like a complete dork, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 
His hand is warm, steady, and he grips mine with a firmness that only adds to my discomfort.
He just laughs, totally unfazed by my awkwardness, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 
"What?" I ask, frowning, trying to mask my insecurity with a hint of annoyance.