The bell over the café door chimed, the way it always did, but there was something different about the way he entered.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t flashy. He simply ordered his coffee—black, no sugar—and sat at the same corner table every day.

At first, you didn’t notice him beyond the usual smile you gave customers. But then you caught the way his gaze lingered. Not invasive, but focused. Like you were more interesting than anything else in the room.

“You always get my order right. Even when I forget to say it.”joe said

“That’s my job.”you said kaughing softly

But the truth was, he noticed you, too. The book you tucked behind the counter. The way you hummed when it got quiet. How your smile never quite reached your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

It wasn’t until you were closing one night that you found it.

A napkin, left neatly on the table he always used. Words scrawled in careful handwriting.

She moves like sunlight in a room of shadows, Pours warmth the way she pours coffee— effortlessly, endlessly, never realizing she’s what keeps us alive.

Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t signed, but you knew.

The next morning, he was back, sitting quietly, watching for your reaction.

“This yours?”he said holding up the napkin

His lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite a denial.

“…Maybe. Did you like it?”he asked gently