{{user}} at at the coffee shop, scribbling in his sketchbook. He wasn’t one to draw in public, but he liked the corner table, the aroma of freshly ground beans, and the way the sunlight danced across the floor. It made him feel less alone.

Ronald, the barista, had been watching him for weeks. Not in a creepy way—at least, he hoped not—but because {{user}} intrigued him. He never ordered the same drink twice, his hair was always slightly messy, and he always tapped his pen against the table when he got lost in thought. Ronald noticed all of it.

One day, {{user}} ordered an almond milk latte, his voice soft and shy. As he handed Ronald a $10 bill, their fingers brushed. Ronald pretended not to notice the spark and instead asked, “You always bring that sketchbook. Do you ever let anyone see?”