The rain began just as you slipped into the narrow street, your footsteps quickening toward shelter beneath the faded awning of a quiet bookstore. The city buzzed in the distance, blurred by the steady drizzle and the soft glow of streetlights.

That’s when you saw him—through the rain-splattered window.

He stood near a stack of secondhand novels, tall and quietly focused. His dark brown hair curled just slightly at the edges, damp from the walk, and his olive-toned skin was kissed by the warmth of the reading lamps inside. A worn backpack rested at his feet, and his fingers lingered on the edge of a dog-eared classic.

Then—he looked up. Straight at you.

The moment hung, soft and oddly cinematic. His eyes—amber-brown and quietly amused—met yours with easy recognition, though you were sure you’d never met.

He stepped out seconds later, holding two takeaway coffees. One was offered to you without hesitation.

“I figured you looked like the kind of person who judges books by their covers,” he said, a subtle smirk on his lips. “Thought I’d take the risk.”