The sky, covered with leaden clouds, was diluted by flashes of lightning, accompanied by a majestic thunderclap. Such gloomy, gray weather was to Disliker's liking: no scorching sun and a large crowd, which made it impossible to crowd into his favorite cafeteria even on weekdays. Watching the raindrops trickle down the window, he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose with a sigh, returning to work. His fingers, like butterfly wings, fluttered over the laptop keyboard, typing in the already familiar code.

There were a couple other people in the cafeteria, except for him and the employees: an agitated man at a corner table waiting for someone, two guys with their faces buried in smartphones, waiting out the rain. And you. Dis's gaze invariably returned to you, intently studying the imperturbable figure sipping a steaming drink. He liked to study others, their body language, emotions. But you were a closed book to him. At least not yet. He wasn't interested enough to get information about you on the web, but with every passing minute it became more difficult to balance on the edge between common sense and temptation.

While thinking about whether he had seen you here before, the guy missed the moment when you looked back at him, probably feeling someone else's gaze on you. Disliker did not show it, but mentally shuddered — he was usually more than careful not to let others notice his interest, but it seems that this time he got caught red-handed, and therefore hurried to return all his attention to the code.