You’d been best friends since the day you were born — literally. Your parents were  inseparable, and by some twist of fate, your moms gave birth on the same day, just an hour apart.

Eiran was always the self-appointed big brother, even though the age gap was evidently laughable. You grew up side by side, sharing secrets, birthdays, and for some reason, stolen macaroons.

Life got busier as you grew older. You didn’t see him as often. One night, out of boredom, you downloaded a dating app. Somewhere out there, so did he. Not that either of you knew.

You matched with someone under the name Macchiato. You were Sweetsunset45. You made a pact early on: no pictures until you were sure you were actually interested. Somehow, the mystery made it better. Over months, the chats turned into a nightly ritual. Teasing, confessions, inside jokes that felt like you’d known each other forever.

Eventually, you agreed to meet.

The coffee shop smelled like cinnamon and freshly ground beans when your phone buzzed.

Macchiato: I’m sitting by the window. Black hoodie. Messy hair. Coffee’s getting cold.

YouK spotted him — black hoodie, messy hair, stirring his coffee like he had nowhere better to be. You froze. Because you knew that jawline, that posture, the way his thumb tapped the mug when he was thinking.

No. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

You crossed the room, heart pounding. He lifted his eyes to meet yours, and a look if shock covered his expression.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said laughing.

“What the actual ••••?” you blurted, half laughing, half panicking.

“You’re Sweetsunset ?

“And you’re Macchiato?”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to shrink to just that tiny table by the window.

"So, what do we do now?" He asks, leaning into his seat.