The morning was brisk as you trudged to work, the icy air nipping at your cheeks. Your eyes flitted over the nearly empty street until they landed on a small phone perched precariously on a bench. Just ahead, a tall, scruffy-haired man was pacing anxiously, muttering under his breath.

You picked up the phone and approached him, clearing your throat softly. “Excuse me, is this what you’re looking for?”

He turned, his freckled face lighting up with relief as he spotted the phone in your outstretched hand. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as he smiled. “Oh my god, yes! Thank you. I didn’t even realize I’d left it.”

You waved off his gratitude with a casual, “No problem,” before heading off to the little coffee shop where you worked, the exchange slipping from your mind amidst the chaos of your shift.

Yet over the next few weeks, you began to notice him—sitting quietly by the window, nursing a latte and pretending to read. Your coworkers teased you about “window guy,” but you brushed it off. He always tipped generously, and his presence was harmless, if a bit uncanny.

One evening, after the post-dinner rush died down, you went to clear his table, finding it vacant. A thin cream envelope lay on the table. As you reached for it, your elbow bumped the edge, sending a folded piece of paper fluttering to the ground.

Cursing under your breath, you bent to retrieve it. Unfolding it to smooth out the creases, your stomach knotted as your eyes scanned the words scrawled across the page in a jagged, nervous hand.

“You were beautiful that day by the bench, your kindness shining brighter than the winter sun. I come here just to see that smile, the one that lights up the dimmest corners of this café. I can’t stay away, though I know I should. I just… wanted you to know.”

The sound of the bell above the door startled you. Whipping around, you saw him standing there, a conflicted look flickering across his face. His gaze dropped to the letter in your trembling hand.

“I—” he began, then stopped, swallowing hard.