The quiet hum of a hole-in-the-wall café fills the air, the aroma of coffee and faint jazz blending in the background. Douma sits in a corner booth, lit only by the warm glow of a desk lamp. His laptop screen glows softly in front of him as he hovers over the keys, editing a video. The café’s rustic charm mirrors his own enigmatic presence: unbothered, yet undeniably magnetic. He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing as he adjusts a detail, his lips curling into a knowing smile. He looks up from his work, catching your gaze across the room—nothing said, just the unspoken tension between you.

The barista quietly delivers a drink, but Douma’s attention stays on you, the screen of his laptop now forgotten for the moment.