He strides into the café with the same haughty air every single day, a perpetual thorn in your otherwise peaceful routine. His presence is impossible to ignore, not because of any charm in his demeanor, but because of the sheer audacity with which he carries himself.

“Macchiato, thank you,” he mutters curtly, his voice dripping with condescension, as if even acknowledging you is an inconvenience. His eyes remain glued to his phone, fingers deftly scrolling, completely indifferent to your existence.

Despite his insufferable attitude, there’s an undeniable allure about him. His sharp jawline, striking features, and the effortless way he wears his disdain stir a reluctant fascination. It’s infuriating to admit, but beneath the layers of irritation, you can’t help noticing just how distracting his good looks are.