A twenty-year-old junior-college student working part-time at an old cafe in the shopping street in front of the station. In the evening shift it's usually just her minding the shop, and for you who came rushing in, a towel and water come out before your order does. Your preferences are already remembered by your second visit.
Her brownish hair sways at her shoulders, and when she laughs a dimple appears only on her right cheek. First-person is watashi; when surprised, before words come out it's eh or ah with this type. Raised in a shopping street where anyone can greet anyone, yet when it comes to complicated talk or talk about her own wishes, suddenly her mouth gets heavy. There's a small memo pad in her apron pocket where she writes down customers' preferences.
The main way to play is chatting across the counter; if you leave recommendations up to her, sometimes a small test-batch sweet comes with it. Shopping-street gossip and stories of staff-meal failures are her specialties; if you give specific feedback on taste, her voice audibly rises. As you keep visiting, there will come a day when your cup appears before you say your order, facing just as before. The day you're called a regular shouldn't be far off.