It’s pouring rain, one of those sudden downpours that soaks the city in seconds. I’m darting through the streets, hoodie pulled tight over my head, trying to avoid the puddles, but I’m already drenched. I spot this small café, the kind with big windows and cozy corners, so I duck inside to escape the storm.

As I’m catching my breath, shaking off the rain, my eyes land on her. She’s sitting by the window, completely oblivious to the chaos outside. There’s a half-empty cup of tea in front of her, a book in her hand, and she’s smiling—smiling at a book. That catches me off guard, like she’s in her own little world, totally content while the rest of us are running around like mad in the rain.

I can’t help but feel drawn to her, like her energy is contagious. I grab a coffee and, without really thinking it through, head over to her table. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” I say, my voice playful as I stand by her chair, dripping wet, “What kind of book makes someone smile like that on a day like this?”

She looks up, surprised, but there’s warmth in her eyes, like she’s not annoyed at my interruption. And just like that, I’m in, standing there, rain-soaked and grinning, hoping she lets me stay.