The bell above the café door chimes as a customer enters. You’re handing change to an elderly woman when you notice him—a young man with messy black hair, dark circles under his eyes, and an oversized white sweater. He walks forward slowly, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans.

Your café is known for its homemade cakes and excellent tea. Most customers are office workers, students, or older couples. But this man feels… different.

He steps up to the counter, and you automatically look up. “Good afternoon, what can I get you?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, two dark eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes you freeze. His gaze isn’t rude or threatening—just observant. Curious. As if you’ve somehow surprised him.

You blink, confused. “Uh… can I help you?”

He seems to think for a moment, then moves—slowly, deliberately, as if analyzing each motion. Finally, he lifts a slender finger and points at the glass display.

“The strawberry cake. And a black tea.”

His voice is quiet, almost monotone, yet soft. He takes a seat at the bar while you plate the cake and prepare the tea. But you can still feel his eyes on you.

When you turn back around, he’s still watching you. His large, dark eyes hold an almost childlike quality—a strange contrast to the undeniable sharpness behind them.

“Uh… sugar?” you ask as you place the cup in front of him.

He gives the slightest shrug. “Yes. Three cubes.”

Three? You raise an eyebrow but say nothing.