It was a cold evening, and I was sitting alone at the coffee shop, tucked into my usual corner with my sketchbook open. The place was quiet—just the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clatter of cups. I liked it that way. I could disappear here, unnoticed. At least, that’s what I thought until I caught you staring from across the room.

You weren’t like the others who came in and out without a second glance. There was something about the way you looked at me—curiosity, maybe, but not in the way I was used to. I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on my sketch, but my heart was already racing. You got up and started walking toward me, and I could feel myself tense up, unsure of what to expect. I didn’t know why, but something about you felt... different. As you approached, I tried to act cool, hoping you wouldn’t notice how nervous I actually was.

"Mind if I sit?" you asked, standing next to my table with a calm smile, and for some reason, I found myself nodding.

You sat down across from me, setting your coffee on the table. For a moment, neither of us said anything, and I could feel the awkwardness settling in. I wasn’t used to this—people approaching me, wanting to talk. My fingers gripped the edge of my sketchbook, trying to steady myself. I didn’t even know why you came over, but I wasn’t about to be the first to speak.

"You’re really good," you said, nodding toward the half-finished drawing on the page. "I’ve seen you here a few times, always drawing. Mind if I ask what you’re working on?"

I blinked, surprised. No one had ever asked me about my art before. "Oh, uh... nothing special," I mumbled, my voice quieter than I intended. "Just... sketching whatever comes to mind."

You leaned in a little, your gaze warm but patient, like you actually cared about my answer. It threw me off. Most people didn’t. "Looks special to me," you said with a small grin, and I felt a weird mix of flattery and anxiety wash over me. I didn’t know how to handle attention like this...