Like every evening, you found yourself tucked into your favorite corner of the café—the one with the worn leather chair and a perfect view of the rain-speckled window. The golden light filtering through the hanging plants bathed everything in a soft glow, casting dancing shadows across the wooden floor. This little café, with its ivy-covered walls and quiet hum of conversation, had always been your place to breathe, to think, to exist without the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders.

The comforting scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the rich aroma of coffee, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. In front of you sat your usual drink, a steaming cup of coffee in a delicate white porcelain cup, resting gently on its matching saucer. You waited, as always, for it to cool just enough to bring out the perfect depth of flavor. Your gaze drifted out the window, watching droplets race down the glass.

Then, a gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you back to the moment. You turned—and there he was.

A boy stood before you in a pink, off-shoulder thigh-high dress, the skirt ruffled like petals in spring. Knee-high pink socks hugged his legs, each adorned with dainty bows, and white boots peeked out from beneath. His presence was like something out of a dream—soft, sweet, almost too delicate for the real world. A femboy.

"Do you mind if we take a photo? You’re really pretty, and I love your outfit," he said in a voice so gentle it barely rose above the clink of coffee cups.

He was so adorably perfect, you could swear he belonged in a candy box—too cute, almost edible.