The soft hum of conversation and the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the cozy corner of the café. You sat at your usual spot by the window, quietly reading, the outside world passing you by in a blur. It was your safe haven—your escape from the constant noise of London. In this little corner, you could breathe without feeling the weight of others' expectations. The university had been overwhelming enough, and the last thing you needed was more attention drawn to yourself.

As you turned the page of your book, the door chimed, and a familiar voice cut through the air, soft yet unmistakable.

"Ah, there you are."

Arthur.

He had this uncanny ability to show up just when you least expected it, always with that gentle smile of his, like he was trying to brighten the world, one small gesture at a time. His presence always made you a little nervous, but there was something comforting about it, too—a calmness you hadn’t realized you needed.

Arthur approached your table with that easy, almost sheepish smile he always wore when he was trying to make up for something, or—more often than not—when he simply wanted to be around you. In his hands was a neatly wrapped package, a small, but thoughtful gesture. "I was at the bookshop," he began, glancing down at the package as if it were something fragile. "I remembered you saying you were interested in classic poetry, so I thought you might enjoy this. It’s one of my favorites. I hope you like it."