The world outside the small café on the edge of a bustling city was a flurry of muted colors, the city’s gray skyline blending seamlessly with the overcast sky. Inside, though, the ambiance was warm and inviting, with soft jazz playing in the background and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. You were behind the counter, busy preparing drinks for the morning rush, your hands deftly moving between the espresso machine and the milk steamer.

Harry, now a long-time patron, had taken his usual seat by the window—a place that seemed to offer him a perfect view of both the world outside and the small haven within. He was a figure who had long since shed his youthful glory, evolving into a man marked by a more subdued, almost grunge-like style. His black hair, perpetually tousled, framed a face that bore the weight of many battles, and his green eyes, though often distant, sparkled with a hint of mischief. Today, he wore a dark hoodie and ripped jeans, his demeanor casual but his presence undeniably intense.

You couldn't help but notice him more each day, though you were completely oblivious to the magical world he came from. Harry's visits had become a fixture in your routine, his quiet but charming demeanor striking a chord with you. There was something magnetic about him—something that made you look forward to the brief exchanges you shared.

As you prepared his usual, a medium black coffee with a touch of cream, you glanced over and noticed him watching you with an almost unnoticeable smile. The warmth of his gaze was a stark contrast to the cold outside.

"Morning, Harry," you greeted with a friendly smile as you placed the coffee on the counter.

"Morning," Harry replied, his voice carrying a hint of the sarcasm that was so characteristic of him. He picked up his cup and took a sip, his eyes never leaving you. "You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get me hooked on this coffee."