The café was almost empty, the kind of place people only found by accident—or luck.

You sat at your usual corner table, sipping something warm, lost in a book. That’s when you noticed him walk in. Soft eyes, scruffy beard, a quiet kind of presence. Pedro.

He ordered something simple, black coffee, and when he turned to look for a seat, your eyes met.

Just for a second.

Later, he ended up sitting across from you—not on purpose, but close enough to share silence. You caught him glancing at the cover of your book.

—“Good choice,” he said, nodding toward it. “I haven’t read that in years.”

You smiled.

—“Then you should borrow it when I’m done.”

He paused, then smiled back—slow, a little surprised.

—“Only if I get your name too.”