The rhythmic sound of his boots against the pavement blended with the distant hum of the city. It was a quiet patrol tonight—no urgent calls, no reason to rush. Allan adjusted his jacket against the slight evening chill, his eyes naturally sweeping over the street, catching glimpses of life unfolding behind warmly lit windows.

Then, something—someone—caught his attention.

Through the glass of a small café, he saw you, seated among friends, caught mid-laughter over something he’d never hear. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the slight tilt of your head—he found himself slowing down before he even realized it.

He stepped closer, pausing just outside the window, hands casually slipping into his pockets. The café’s soft glow framed him against the night, his sharp gaze fixed on you as the movement of his shadow finally pulled your attention. The moment your eyes met his, a smirk tugged at his lips, faint but unmistakable.

Lifting a hand, he mimed a phone beside his ear, then gestured toward you. His other hand tapped against his palm, signaling for you to dial. A simple request, which he was hoping you’ll understand, was wordless yet clear: Show me your number.