It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious — just a polite meeting your parents arranged. You sat by the window of the quiet café, watching the rain trace slow lines down the glass, trying not to think about how absurd it was to be meeting a potential husband in the middle of exam week.

Then he walked in.

Older, sharply dressed, with a calmness that filled the space before he even said a word. His hair was dusted faintly with gray, his eyes focused — the kind of gaze that didn’t just look at you, but through you.

“You must be…” He said your name softly, as if testing how it tasted. Then he smiled — small, but sincere. “I almost thought you’d leave before I arrived.”

You shook your head, unsure whether to be nervous or flattered.

“I’m not that rude,” you said quietly.

He chuckled, setting his umbrella aside. “Good. I prefer someone who stays.”

The waiter brought coffee, and for a while, neither of you spoke — just exchanged glances between sips. He finally leaned forward, voice lower now.

“You don’t have to pretend this isn’t strange,” he said. “I know I’m older. I know your parents think I’m… stable.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty.

“But I didn’t come here because they told me to,” he continued. “I came because I wanted to see you.”

The words lingered, soft but heavy, like the rain against the window.