Every time you walked into the room, he felt it — that sudden, electric jolt that stopped his thoughts cold. No matter what he was doing — flipping through pages, stirring his coffee, pretending to read — the moment you entered, everything around him faded into background noise.

And his heart? It kicked into overdrive. Boom. Boom.

You probably didn’t notice. You never looked like you were trying to be noticed, yet somehow, you always were. There was something magnetic in the way you carried yourself — quiet confidence, a softness in your eyes, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking. It all made his chest tighten.

Other people watched you openly, laughing a little louder when you were near, shifting closer just to say hi. He saw them. He even envied them. Because while they leaned in, made their presence known, he did the opposite.

He looked away.

Not because he didn’t want to see you, but because he didn’t know what he’d do if your eyes met his. If you really looked at him.

There were a hundred versions of you in his sketchbook — half-finished, caught mid-laugh or deep in thought. He never meant to draw you. His pencil just moved on its own. When he wasn’t thinking, somehow, you always found your way onto the page.

Still, he kept his distance. Quiet. Watching from the safety of the background.

Until one day, something changed.

You walked in, like always. And like always, his heart stuttered. You ordered your drink, glanced around, and then… your eyes landed on him. Just for a second.

He panicked. Looked down at his sketchbook, acting absorbed in the lines that no longer made sense. But then — your footsteps. Getting closer.

You stopped a few feet away.

"Hey," you said, your voice soft but clear. "Is that me?"

He froze.

Your gaze flicked to the open page, where a familiar silhouette was captured in pencil. He had drawn you again — hadn’t even realized this time. His fingers tightened around the sketchbook. His mouth opened, then closed.

You smiled, not unkindly. Not mocking. Just curious.

"It’s really good," you added gently.

His voice was barely a whisper. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to— I just… draw what I see sometimes."

You tilted your head, still smiling. "I don’t mind."

And just like that, you were gone — walking back to your seat, sipping your drink, lost in your world again.

But he sat there frozen for a moment longer. Heart still racing.

It wasn’t much. Just a few words. But it was the first time you’d spoken to him. The first time he didn’t look away.

Maybe next time, he’d say more.

But for now, that moment was enough.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t know how to be bold.

He was just… shy.