The cafe felt different whenever he was there. Alina would never admit it aloud, not to Maya, not even to herself, but the air shifted when Mr. Stranger claimed his seat by the window. As though the quiet hum of conversation dulled, as though every sound bent itself around the still gravity of his presence.
He was there. Alonee. He sat alone. Always alone. A solitary figure with the same calm posture, the same composed silence.
And he never spoke. Not to the students who sat around him, their fingers clattering against keyboards as if the sound alone could prove their brilliance.
Not to the girls either, the ones who wandered over with books they didn't need help with. They didn't come because they needed coffee; they came because of his face, because his presence carried a weight that drew attention without trying. But to them, too, he gave nothing. No words. No spark. Just a polite distance that left them puzzled and, sometimes, quietly offended.
And not to the uncles either, who approached him to talk about the same subject: their daughters. They tried to set up conversations, to weave introductions, to see if perhaps he might look their way. But he didn't. The only thing they got is silence. At the end of the day, they got it, and by exiting the cafe, they only said one thing:" This guy is rude.''
It wasn't rudeness, not really. It was more like… a wall. A quiet, immovable wall separated him from everyone else. People noticed him, people wanted to reach him, but he stayed untouchable. He created a bubble around him like the world outside wasn't meant for him at all.
Not even to Maya, who greeted him with a bright, rehearsed smile each time. He acknowledged no one. Except her.
That afternoon, Alina carried a tray of drinks to the table beside his. Her steps slowed against her will. He hadn't looked at anyone in the past hour, but the instant her shadow crossed his table, his head turned. Dark eyes caught hers, steady, unblinking. Her breath stilled. And then, for the first time that day, he spoke.
"You came."
Alina blinked. "What?"
His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, more a private joke only he understood. "I was wondering how long you'd avoid me."
She shifted, tightening her grip on the tray. "I'm working."
"You say that often." His gaze lingered, sharp as it was amused. "As if you're trying to convince yourself."
Her pulse stumbled. "I don't know what you mean."
"You do."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the table. The golden light from the window cut across his face, shadowing his eyes, making it harder to look away.
"Tell me, Alina," he said softly, "why do you keep staring at me like that?"
Everyone calls her Alina.. But through his mouth it hit different.. Alina. She never fell in love with her name like this. She hates to admit it, but she loves it whenever he calls her by the name Alina.
Her throat dried. "I....I wasn't staring."
"Yes, you were." His voice dipped lower, smooth, unhurried. "You always do."
Heat burned her cheeks. Pinknk. This is what it is called, the colour of her cheek. She turned quickly so that he couldn't see her pink cheek. Setting the tray down at the other table before retreating toward the counter.
But his words clung to her like constant
You always do.
Her chest squeezed. He was wrong. Completely wrong. She didn't stare, she only looked. Maybe lingered. Because there was something about him. How can a stranger make her blush like that?
Not just the way he carried himself, or the sharpness of his gaze, or that infuriating smirk that made her feel both seen and trapped.
It was his voice.
And his eyes.
Something about them tugged at her memory, familiar and unreachable all at once, like a name she should know but couldn't grasp. She wanted to know who he was. She wanted to tear away whatever mask he wore, force him to reveal what lay underneath. But every time she edged closer, he bypassed her, turning her suspicion into fluster, her questions into his game.
And Maya…
Alina glanced at her friend. Maya was behind the counter, polishing a glass that was already spotless, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on the window seat. Her expression was carefully neutral, but Alina had known her long enough to see the strain beneath it. Maya was tense. Nervous, even.
Why? Why did Maya seem almost afraid whenever Alina and Mr. Stranger spoke?
Alina's frown deepened. There were too many questions, and none of them had answers. Only one thing was certain. He spoke to no one. And yet, he never stopped speaking to her.
Maya's hands trembled as she stacked saucers behind the counter. She forced her grip steady, but the porcelain still clicked faintly against the wood. Alina didn't notice; she was too preoccupied, her gaze drifting again toward the man at the window.
Maya swallowed hard. Don't look at him. Please don't.
But of course, Alina did. It was inevitable.
Mr. Stranger had his effect on her. Maya could see it, could almost feel it from across the room. The way Alina grew restless whenever he was here, the way her eyes followed him even when she tried to resist.
And the worst part: he let her. No....he encouraged it.
Maya pressed her lips together until they hurt. He never spoke to anyone. Not even her, despite her best efforts. She had tried once, twice, three times to strike up a polite conversation, to draw his attention, but his silence had been cutting. He had dismissed her existence entirely.
Except with Alina.
He spoke to Alina as if the entire world vanished whenever she stood near him. And if Alina discovered who he really was… Maya's chest seized. She couldn't let that happen. At the far end of the cafe, Alina wiped down a table that didn't need wiping. Her movements were too sharp, too deliberate. Restless. And when she finally approached his table, Maya's nails dug into her palm.
Alina stopped just short of him, cloth in hand. "You know, you're not very polite."
A slow lift of his gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Am I ?"
"You ignore everyone," she said, trying for casual, though her voice thinned. "It's rude."
"I ignore them," he corrected smoothly. "Not you."
Her pulse skipped. "That doesn't make it less rude."
"On the contrary." He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head, eyes gleaming like he'd found amusement in her irritation. "It makes it selective. And you should feel honored, Alina. You're the only one I speak to."
Her chest tightened. The way he said her name, it slipped off his tongue like he'd owned it long before she'd given him the right.
"That's not something to brag about," she muttered.
"Isn't it?" He leaned forward suddenly, closing the distance until she felt his breath stir the air between them. "Or…" His lips curved, devilish. "…have you fallen for me already?"
Her eyes widened. "Wh–what?"
The smirk deepened, shameless. "Your expression tells me everything."
"I haven't—!" she sputtered, heat flooding her cheeks. "You're impossible."
"And yet you can't stay away." His gaze didn't waver, sharp and knowing. "Why is that, Alina? Why do you keep circling back to me, looking at me like you're searching for something?"
Her throat tightened. She hated how close he was, hated how much her body betrayed her, how his words slid under her skin like he already knew her thoughts. Alina.. He called her again by name.
"I'm not searching," she said stiffly.
He chuckled low, leaning back just enough to give her breath. "Then what are you doing? Polishing the same table twice? Forgetting to leave? Staring at me when you think I don't notice?"
She froze. How could he know... every thought of mine?
Her heart hammered. "You think too highly of yourself."
"No." He shook his head slowly, deliberately, as if correcting a child. "I think highly of you. There's a difference."
Her chest squeezed painfully. Those words. That tone. It was too familiar.
Alina's hand clenched around the cloth. She remembered something...someone. The same confidence, the same infuriating rhythm in his voice. Her mind grasped desperately, tugging at shadows in her memory, but the figure refused to take shape.
She knew him. She was certain of it.
But who—?
Her frustration surged, sharp enough to make her reckless. She stepped closer, leaning on the edge of his table. "Why don't you tell me who you are, then?"
He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous. "Why don't you find out?"
"I'm trying."
"And failing."
Alina's breath caught. His gaze pinned her, daring, taunting.
Her fingers twitched. She wanted ...God, she wanted to rip that calm mask off his face, to see what he was hiding.
So she reached... just slightly, her hand inching as though she might pull away the curtain of hair that shadowed part of his eyes.
But before she could touch him, his hand shot out.
Not roughly. Just firm enough to catch her wrist, to still her movement in the air.
"Careful," he murmured. His voice was low, velvety, and sharp. "If you touch me like that, people might think you want me."
Her heart tripped violently, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"I don't..'' she whispered, but her voice broke traitorously.
He leaned closer again, until his face was level with hers. So close she could see the faint dark circles around his eyes when his smirk widened.
"You almost sound like you're trying to convince yourself."
Alina ripped her hand back, stumbling a step away. Her breath shook.
Behind the counter, Maya's grip tightened so hard on the glass that she nearly dropped it.