It was a warm, sunny July morning, and the streets of London were slowly coming to life. The golden light bathed the city in a soft glow as shopkeepers opened their doors, tourists wandered with maps in hand, and hurried locals weaved through the growing bustle on their way to work. After months on the road, playing to packed arenas around the world, Alex could finally step back into his old life—the life where he didn’t have to perform for anyone. No cameras, no screaming fans, no expectations. Just peace, anonymity, and the sweet familiarity of the neighborhood he had missed so much.

There were no big plans for the day. For the first time in a while, his calendar was blissfully blank. After a quick breakfast at home, he decided to indulge in one of the things he’d been dreaming of during long nights on the tour bus: a cup of coffee from the little café just down the street. He’d been coming here for years—a small, cozy refuge from the noise of the outside world. The staff knew him well, but not as "Alex the rockstar." Here, he was just another regular, ordering his usual and enjoying the calm hum of the café.

The café itself was only just starting to wake up, the scent of fresh bread and coffee drifting through the air. A few early risers sat scattered at the tables—students hunched over their laptops, an older man quietly reading a newspaper, a couple sharing a plate of croissants. It was tranquil, almost dreamlike.Alex pushed the door open, the little bell above jingling softly as he stepped inside. He made his way to the counter, but something caught his eye. A new face.

She was standing behind the counter, focused on refilling the espresso machine. A package of coffee beans rested awkwardly in her hands, and as she tried to pour them into the grinder, the packaging fought back. Her brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a determined line as the beans spilled out in slow, rebellious streams. Alex couldn’t help but chuckle quietly under his breath at the scene unfolding before him.