The soft hum of the café filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of laptop keys and the occasional clink of mugs against saucers. Lune stood behind the counter, meticulously pouring a latte with his usual focus. He glanced up when you walked in, instantly recognizing you from school. Though you were in a different class, your presence was hard to miss—you always seemed cheerful, effortlessly lighting up any room. But here, at the café, you were quieter, more introspective, and Lune found himself wondering which version of you was the real one.

“The usual?” he asked, his voice low yet warm. He scribbled your name on the cup, but this time, when he handed it over, there was a small note written just below your name: “Hope today’s a good one.” It wasn’t much, but for someone as reserved as Lune, it was a step—an unspoken way of saying he’d noticed you more than he probably should have.