The club went silent as the doors locked—a sign that the wild times were over and reality had crept back in. At least, the wild times were over for Latifa tonight. Her feet ached after four sets and a dozen lap dances in the back. That was an average Friday night at The Starlight Lounge. Some girls did more for more money, but Latifa couldn’t do it. There’s a difference between selling your pride and destroying your dignity.

She walked over to the bar like she always did; it was a practiced routine. The floor still clung to the night’s stickiness beneath her heels, and her body hummed with leftover music that wasn’t even playing anymore. Garnet slid a ginger ale across the counter, the glass sweating under the dim lights.

It always seemed ironic to Latifa that she was old enough to take her clothes off in front of a room full of strangers, yet not old enough to drink a beer. She lifted the glass, the fizz tickling her nose before she took a sip. Life was full of such ironies. She had a lot of love to give, yet nobody wanted to receive it—her body, yes, but never her heart. That was probably for the best. A broken heart, she’d learned, was worse than any broken bone.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her face was the same, yet somehow it looked older now. Maybe it was just in her mind, but she was sure she could see it. All her scars were invisible to the outside world, but she knew they ran deep—straight down to the bone.

She heard the low, tinny sound of the till closing as Garnet dropped the night’s cash into a brown leather bag. The sound echoed faintly in the empty room. The air smelled of cheap perfume, spilled beer, and the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clung to everything, even after closing.

“Latifa, why do you do this?” he asked, heading toward the little safe at the end of the bar.

Latifa looked at him, one eyebrow lifting. “Do what? Come and talk to you every night?”

Garnet smiled faintly, his eyes tired but kind. “No, I mean dance here.” He nodded toward the cheesy romance novel tucked under her arm. “You read about love day after day, but you spend all your off time alone.”

Latifa gave a small laugh that didn’t quite make it past her throat. The overhead light buzzed softly, casting a pale glow over everything. She rolled the glass between her palms, letting the cold seep into her skin before setting it down again.

Garnet added, “If anyone deserves family and love, it’s you.”

Latifa leaned back, a tired half-smile playing at her lips. “I didn’t choose this life—it chose me. And I learned the hard way that a girl like me can’t keep a roof over her head and a good man in her bed. Life doesn’t work like that.”

Garnet looked disappointed as he started washing glasses. “As long as you think you don’t deserve love, you won’t get it.”

Latifa sighed. “It’s not that easy. I didn’t suddenly wake up and think, damn, bitch, you’re unlovable. As far back as I can remember, the world told me I wasn’t.”

Garnet didn’t answer. The hum of the cooler filled the silence between them, steady and cold.

Latifa tapped her fingers on the bar. “I wish my life could be filled with love, but I’m not some wide-eyed schoolgirl. My world is the smell of stale beer, men who think hands-on is a right, and lust-filled eyes that don’t see past the surface.”

She stared down at her reflection in the bar’s glossy surface, the overhead light turning her eyes the colour of old whiskey.

Garnet slid a glass into the rack with a sharp clink. “Bullshit,” he said, leaning against the bar. “You ever see those two preachers?”

Latifa smiled. “You mean the old guy with the tattoos that look like a five-year-old drew them, and the younger one who looks like he lost a fight with a lawn mower?” She traced a finger along her cheek, showing where his scar ran.

She’d seen both men around—the older one always trying to save souls, the younger one punishing the wicked. He’d beaten pimps and drunks like it was a sport, and he was some hometown hero.

Garnet smiled. “Yeah, those two.”

Latifa shrugged. “What about them?”

“One killed a man,” Garnet said quietly, “and the other was a drug dealer back in Cornwall.”

Latifa leaned in. “So how does that help me find love?”

Garnet reached under the bar and pulled out a cheap-looking light blue book, sliding it toward her. “If those two can get a second chance, don’t you think you deserve a first one?”

Latifa glanced down at the cover. The black type was faded, the corners soft from use: CORRESPONDENCE BRANCH – ONTARIO MINISTRY OF EDUCATION.

Latifa ran her fingers across the cover. “So this will help me find love?”

Garnet laughed. “No, but it might point you in the right direction. There are a lot of reasons you need this.”

Latifa asked, “And what are these reasons?”

Garnet leaned in, holding up a finger. “First thing—education gives you choices.”A second finger popped up. “Number two, strippers age out, and you deserve better than what comes next.”Then a third finger. “And most importantly, if you’re working toward something better, you might actually learn to love yourself.”

Latifa took the book and whispered, “I will think about it.”

Garnet said, “One last thing. You were with the wrong guys. You need to find a man who sees who you are, not what you had to do to make a living.”

“If only it were that easy,” Latifa said.

Garnet laughed softly. “Easy? No. But it is that simple.”