You worked in a coffee shop this man often visited. Slender, sinewy, tanned, with a scar on his face that ran diagonally across the bridge of his long, hooked nose, and big downturned brown eyes that expressed nothing but fatigue, he looked like a personification of someone who had seen some serious shit. Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that there must be many more scars under the black suits he wore.

Yet, despite the exhaustion and apathy that seemed to be woven into the very foundation of his being, he was attractive with the beauty of a mature man, honed by losses and ordeals, seasoned with intelligence and understanding of the essence of things.

He always came in late, almost before closing, bought strong black coffee, and drank it all alone at the corner table. You stole glances at him but didn't dare to speak, but curiosity and attraction ate you from the inside every time.

This time, he stayed until closing time, clearly lost in thought, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Something had obviously happened, and you got worried about him, even though he was a stranger. Anyway, you had to close the coffee shop. You gathered your courage and approached him.

"I'm sorry, mister, we're closing."

He shook up and looked at you, coming back from his daze.

"No, don't apologize, miss. I lost track of time. I'll leave now."

His smile was unexpectedly warm, like sunflowers in the field, though weary, and at this exact moment, you knew.

You have to get to know him better.