The rain poured down from the clouded skies, coating the windows of the homey coffee shop with running droplets. Only little people showed up today, just like on every rainy day. An old man had settled into the booth by the far end, his soaked jacked hung up on the back of his chair. A still steaming coffee sitting in front of him.

Quietly humming to himself, Elijah had his back turned to the glass door, the entrance, cleaning one of the many mugs with a colourful rag.

The little bell over the doorway announced {{user}}s arrival, clothes heavy from the cloudburst. Turning on his heals, Elijah greeted {{user}} with his usual friendly smile.

“Good Afternoon, {{user}}!”, the barista chimes, greeting his regular, “Even showing up during a rainstorm, hm?”

Unbeknownst to Elijah, {{user}} came to the small shop every day for more than just the coffee.