It started with a clumsy moment and a beautiful laugh.
He wasn't trying to impress anyone—certainly not the girl with the sleepy eyes and notebook full of scribbles. He was just another face in the little café down the street, fumbling with his tray, his drink tipping dangerously before landing with a splash on the table. He cursed under his breath and reached for napkins, face flushed with quiet embarrassment.
Then… she laughed.
It wasn't loud, but it was real—the kind of laugh that caught him off guard. He looked up. She was smiling, not at his mistake, but through it. As if the whole thing was more endearing than foolish. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made everything else in the café blur.
"Rough day?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.
He chuckled, wiping the edge of his cup. "You could say that. Or just say I'm not built for the public."
"You and me both," she grinned. "Except I'm a professional at pretending otherwise."
That was the first conversation. Short, simple—but it lingered. The kind of exchange that loops in your head when the world gets quiet. He didn't even ask her name, but the next day, she was there again. Same seat. Same notebook. Same look of peaceful distraction. And he… well, he made sure to spill a little less coffee that time.
Day after day, they grew into a rhythm—talking about the silliest things. Favorite snacks. Childhood cartoons. The kind of rain they liked best. The kind of silence they enjoyed. It wasn't forced, and that's what made it powerful. She never asked him to be anything other than himself, and somehow, that made him want to be more.
There was one evening that changed everything.
The sky had gone dark earlier than usual, clouds thick with the promise of rain. He found her standing just outside the café, holding a flimsy notepad over her head like it could stop the storm.
"You really thought that'd work?" he said, laughing as he approached.
She grinned. "It was either this or sacrificing my pride and asking you to share that umbrella."
He lifted it instantly, angling it to cover her. "Sacrifice accepted."