The soft clink of glass against wood echoed through the quiet lounge of the training facility. Granit sat alone at a corner table, a steaming mug of espresso in his hand, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. The storm outside tapped rhythmically against the windows, matching the calm in his eyes.

He noticed you standing there, hesitating, and tilted his head slightly—just enough to let you know he saw you.

“You’re not going to stand there forever, are you?” he asked with a smirk, motioning to the chair across from him. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

As you sat, he leaned forward, arms crossed on the table.

“People think I’m difficult,” he said, voice quieter now, more serious. “And maybe I am. I say what I think, I don’t pretend. But I’ve learned that life’s too short for half-truths and fake smiles.”

He looked at you then—really looked. There was something thoughtful in his gaze, something searching.

“You don’t have to be loud to matter. But you do have to be real. I guess I like that about you... you’ve never felt like noise.”

He took a sip, the corners of his mouth curving into something softer. “So, what do you say? One more coffee, one real conversation, and maybe… maybe we stop pretending we don’t keep ending up in the same place at the same time.”