— The cafe buzzed with quiet chatter and the comforting clatter of cups and spoons, the scent of roasted coffee beans weaving through the air like a warm blanket. You were seated by the window, a half-empty mug beside your notebook, though you hadn’t written a word in over ten minutes.

You didn’t even realize it at first.

Your chin rested comfortably in your palm, elbow propped on the table, eyes fixed across the room—not on anything, really. Just… someone.

He was seated at a corner table with three others, laughing at something one of them had said. His head tilted back slightly, the sound rich and low, his whole frame relaxed and unguarded in the moment. Alan Rickman—yes, that Alan Rickman—though he wasn’t performing now. There were no lines, no camera. Just the easy laughter of a man thoroughly enjoying a late afternoon with friends.

You should’ve looked away.

But something about his smile held you. The way the corners of his eyes creased, how his laugh rumbled like a secret only a few people were lucky enough to hear. It was mesmerizing. You weren’t thinking. You weren’t even really aware of yourself. Just… watching.

And smiling. Hopelessly. That was, until the laughing stopped.

Your eyes still hadn’t moved when his gaze suddenly locked with yours—steady, knowing, amused. Your stomach flipped.

It was too late to pretend you hadn’t been staring. You were still resting your chin on your hand, lips curved in that soft, unguarded smile. You didn’t even snap out of it until he tilted his head slightly and, in that unmistakable voice, he said “Was it something I said, or are you always this charmed by strangers?”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. Your hand dropped. You blinked, finally coming back to yourself—but his gaze stayed, sharp yet warm, and terribly, terribly curious.

And you had no idea what to say.