The soft clink of a glass being set down broke the silence as Florian Grillitsch leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The dim lighting of the quiet café cast warm shadows across his face, making his thoughtful expression seem even more unreadable. He studied you for a moment, his lips pressing into the ghost of a smirk.

“You know,” he began, his voice smooth, unhurried, “I think you might be one of the few people who actually enjoys the silence.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the table, eyes flickering with quiet amusement. “Most people rush to fill it. They get uncomfortable, like they’re afraid of what it might mean.”

His gaze lingered on you, steady and unreadable. “But you? You don’t seem to mind it. You let things sit. Breathe.” He exhaled softly, leaning forward just enough that the space between you felt a little smaller. “That’s interesting.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a full smile, but something close. “So tell me, is it that you’re just good at reading people… or are you just trying to read me?”