A/N: Let the music play in the background. It'll set the mood. Every chapter will feature a piece like this from Gibran Alcocer.

It was an ordinary morning in early autumn when I first saw you. The kind of morning that starts with the sky wrapped in a soft, grey blanket, the streets still slick from last night's rain.

The light outside had taken on that soft, muted quality that only autumn mornings have, the sun filtering through the thinning leaves, casting long, lazy shadows across the pavement.

The café was bathed in the muted hues of dawn, everything tinged with a soft blue light that made the world feel quieter, more distant.

Inside, the warmth was golden and comforting, unlike the coolness beyond the windows. It was warm with the hum of the espresso machine and the murmur of morning conversations.

The usual crowd trickled in―students with bleary eyes clutching their textbooks, professionals on autopilot, ordering their coffee without ever looking up from their phones.

I was behind the counter, arranging the freshly baked pastries when the door chimed, and you stepped inside.

At first, you were just another face in the crowd, another customer passing through the café on their way to somewhere else. But something made me look up, and that's when I saw you for the first time.

You moved through the café like a shadow, quiet, unassuming, but there was a presence about you that drew my eyes. The way you carried yourself, with a calm self-assurance, made you stand out in a room full of people who were always in a rush chasing what was theirs and what wasn't. You weren't flashy or loud; you didn't demand attention.

You wore a dark blue coat, the colour of the sky just before nightfall, and a grey scarf that was loosely wrapped around your neck. Your hair was damp from the rain, small droplets clinging to the strands, and your eyes-deep and dark, like the storm clouds that had just passed-seemed to take in everything around you with a quiet intensity. You walked up to the counter, and I realised I was holding my breath.

"One avocado toast and a black coffee, please." Your voice was soft, with a hint of something I couldn't quite place-calm, measured, like the steady rhythm of rain on the pavement outside.

I nodded, trying not to stare, and quickly set to work preparing your order. My hands moved on their own, my mind somewhere else, focused on the way your gaze drifted to the window, watching the world outside as if it held some secret you were trying to decipher.

When I handed you the plate and the cup, you smiled-a small, almost imperceptible curve of your lips. "Thank you," you said, and I felt something shift inside me, like a thread being pulled taut.

I watched as you settled by the window, the one that overlooked the quiet street outside, the one where the light always caught just right, casting everything in a soft, silver glow. You pulled out a book from your bag, its cover as black as the coffee in your cup, and began to read.

As the minutes passed, I found myself stealing glances at you, trying to catch every small detail. The way your fingers traced the edge of the page before you turned it. The way you absentmindedly stirred your coffee, even though you drank it black. The way you would pause every so often, looking up from your book to stare out the window, your gaze distant and thoughtful, as if you were somewhere far away.

I didn't know what it was about you that fascinated me so much. Maybe it was the contrast you brought into the café-the calm within the morning rush, the quiet focus amidst the chatter and clatter. Or maybe it was the way you seemed so at peace with yourself, so comfortable in your own skin, in a way that I never quite was. I was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, unable to look away even though I knew I should.

After you left that day, I found myself thinking about you, replaying the brief encounter over and over in my mind. It was just a moment, just a small, insignificant part of the day, but it stayed with me, lingering like the aftertaste of a strong coffee. And so, the next morning, I waited.

It became a habit, this waiting. Every morning, I would stand behind the counter, my eyes flicking towards the door every time the bell chimed, hoping to see you walk through it.

I began to learn your routine without ever speaking more than a few words to you. I knew when you would come in, how long you would stay, and even the way you liked your toast-just a hint of salt, never too much.

I watched you, fascinated by the way you seemed so perfectly content in your own company, how the world outside that window seemed to hold a different kind of meaning when you were the one looking at it.

The more I watched you, the more I realised how eager I was getting. Each morning, I would feel a flicker of anticipation, a quiet thrill, when the door chimed and it was you. And when it wasn't, I would feel a pang of disappointment, an emptiness that I couldn't quite explain.

It was as if you had become the centre of my little world, a constant in the chaos, and I found myself craving that sense of calm that you brought with you.

The days began to blur together, each one marked by your presence in the café. On sunny days, the light would flood through the windows, turning everything a bright, clear blue. The warmth of the sun would soften the sharp lines of your face, making you seem almost fragile, like something delicate that could be easily shattered.

On rainy days, you would arrive with your coat speckled with raindrops, your hair damp and clinging to your forehead. The grey clouds outside would cast a shadow over the café, and the world would feel a little colder, a little darker, except for the warmth that seemed to radiate from you.

I never spoke more than necessary, never asked your name, never tried to engage in conversation beyond the routine pleasantries. It was safer that way, easier to keep this thing-whatever it was-at a distance. But I couldn't help the way my eyes followed you as you moved, the way my heart would skip a beat when you smiled, even if it was just a polite smile meant for a stranger.

I started to notice the small things about you, the things that most people would overlook. How you would always stir your coffee three times before taking a sip. How you would tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. How your eyes would light up, just a little, when you reached a particularly interesting part of your book. These were the things that made you real to me, not just a face in the crowd but someone I felt like I was starting to know, even though we had never really spoken.

As autumn deepened, the world outside the café began to change. The blue of the sky grew darker, the days shorter, the nights colder. The leaves turned from green to gold, then to brown, and finally began to fall, leaving the trees bare and stark against the grey sky. But inside the café, you were a constant, a quiet presence that I came to rely on more than I cared to admit.

I found myself looking forward to your visits, anticipating the small smile you would give me when you placed your order, the way your eyes would meet mine for just a moment before you turned away. It was enough to sustain me, those brief interactions, those fleeting glances. It was enough to make me feel like I was part of something, even if it was something that only existed in my own mind.

And then, one day, you didn't come in.

I waited, as I always did, my eyes on the door, my heart skipping a beat every time someone walked in. But the morning passed, and you never appeared. The light outside was a dull, heavy grey, the kind that presses down on you and makes everything feel a little more difficult, a little more hopeless. The café was quieter than usual, the hum of conversation subdued, the clatter of cups and plates sounding distant and hollow.

I tried to tell myself it didn't matter, that you were just another customer, just another face in the crowd. But as the day dragged on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that the world was a little less bright without you in it.

It was strange, this attachment I had formed. It wasn't love-not yet, at least-but it was something close to it. It was a longing, a yearning for something I couldn't quite name, something that felt just out of reach. It was the way my heart would lift when you walked through the door, the way my breath would catch when our eyes met, the way the world seemed to fade away when you were near.

I didn't know what to do with these feelings, these strange, unfamiliar emotions that had taken root inside me. So I kept them to myself, tucked away in the corners of my mind, like a secret I wasn't ready to share, not even with myself.

And then, the next morning, you were there again, as if nothing had happened. As if you hadn't been missing for a day, as if the world hadn't felt a little emptier without you. You walked in with that same quiet grace, that same calm presence, and ordered your usual-avocado toast and a black coffee. You didn't notice the way my hands shook slightly as I prepared your order, or the way my heart pounded in my chest as I handed it to you.

You gave me that small, absent-minded smile, and for a moment, everything was right with the world again. The blue of the sky outside seemed a little brighter, the light filtering through the windows a little warmer.

"Sorry for not coming yesterday," you spoke, so casually, with a small, silly smile on your lips, like we were old friends

I was stunned into silence, caught off guard. You'd noticed. You'd somehow known how your absence had affected me. My mind raced, trying to find words, but all I could do was stare at you, my heart pounding in my chest. You just stood there, looking at me with those dark, thoughtful eyes, your gaze lingering on my face as if you were studying every detail, committing it to memory.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes meeting mine. And then you shook your head, the corners of your lips curling up into that same silly smile.

"Thought you'd miss me," you said, scratching the back of your neck, almost sheepishly, as if you were embarrassed by your own words.

Before I could even process what you had said, you turned to leave, your hand already on the door. You were leaving. And I wouldn't let you go, not like this. "I did." The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them.

You paused, your hand freezing on the door handle. Slowly, you turned around, your eyes searching mine, a question in them that I didn't have the answer to. There was a flicker of surprise on your face, quickly replaced by something softer, something almost tender.

For a long moment, we just looked at each other, the café fading away, the sounds of the morning rush dimming until it was just you and me, suspended in that fragile, perfect silence.

"Don't disappear like that again," I said, my voice softer this time, almost pleading. It felt like a confession, those words, a truth I hadn't been ready to admit even to myself.

Your smile widened, that silly, endearing smile that made my heart ache in the best possible way. The bell above the door chimed softly as you left, the sound fading into the quiet hum of the café, leaving me standing there, my heart racing, my mind spinning with a thousand thoughts.

WC:2100