The bell above the cafe door jingled, a soft, tired sound that matched the rhythm of the town itself. It was early evening, that in-between hour when the rush had passed, but the quiet had not fully settled.
Elenda Ramirez sat at the corner table, her sketchbook open, pencil smudging faint lines across the page. She was done with her duty tonight; another barista had taken the shift. For once, she could just sit as a customer instead of carrying trays of cappuccinos and slices of chocolate mousse cake. The cafe was her second home, not only because her wages came from it, but because its walls seemed to hum with warmth. The big windows framed the sea beyond, catching the last hues of sunset.
She glanced up briefly, strands of her dark hair slipping loose from her messy bun. The light outside faded into indigo, and already the first stars were glowing out. Elena's pencil stilled. She drew the beginning curve of a figure, but her thoughts drifted. She had been working here for nearly three years, saving coin after coin in a jar beneath her bed. Each peso meant one step closer to another country, to a prestigious art school, to a life where her work might hang on walls beyond her bedroom.
But dreams often felt like stars themselves: Beautiful, unreachable, and too far away.
The bell jingled again.
A man stepped inside, tall enough that he had to duck slightly beneath the frame. His presence filled the small cafe in an instant, though not in the way of someone trying to be noticed. Rather, it was the silence he carried with him that made people glance up. He wore a plain gray shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tactical pants, and his boots were still dusted with the pale dirt of the road. His hair was short, neatly trimmed, and his jaw was shadowed by a few days of stubble.
Adrian Vale
Elena didn't know his name yet, but she felt the air shift when he walked in. She looked away quickly, lowering her gaze to the page, as though her pencil had suddenly become the most important thing in the world. She was used to faces, the way people's features begged to be captured, the way a laugh left a trace on lips or sorrow lingered in eyes. But his face... it was different. There was a tired strength to it, the kind she had only seen in statues and stories.
He approached the counter, his voice low when he ordered a black coffee. No sugar, no cream. The barista nodded, glancing at him the way everyone did; curious, a little cautious. Outsiders were rare in this coastal town; soldiers were even more rare.
When Adrian turned, coffee in hand, his gaze brushed past Elena's table. For a heartbeat, it lingered. She was bent over her sketchbook, the page already stained with the beginning of a profile she hadn't realized she was copying from his image.
The moment she noticed, heat rushed to her cheeks. She shut the notebook too quickly, smudging the charcoal. The sound was sharp enough to get his full attention.
"Sorry," she muttered under her breath, not even sure if he could hear.
Adrien's brow lifted slightly, a question flickering across his face, but he didn't comment. Instead, he chose the table near the window, his back half-turned toward her. He sipped his coffee slowly, as though tasting silence.
For several minutes, Elena tried to draw again, but her pencil hovered uselessly. She told herself it was ridiculous; people came and went every day. He was just another customer. Just another passerby. But still, her eyes betrayed her, flicking toward him when she thought he wasn't looking.
And once...
Just once...
His eyes met hers.
It was brief. A glance, no more than a second. But it was enough for her stomach to twist, enough to make her look down so quickly she almost knocked her cup of hot chocolate drink over. She scolded herself under her breath.
Adrian hid a smile behind his mug.
When he finally rose to leave, Elena breathed out in relief. Her sketchbook lay abandoned, her pencil rolling slightly across the table. She had every intention of erasing the smudged lines the moment he was gone.
But fate, or perhaps the stars, had other plans.
As Adrian passed her table, the toe of his boot caught on the edge of the rug. He stumbled lightly, but enough that the coffee cup in his hand tipped. A few drops splattered across her page.
Elena gasped, clutching her sketchbook as if saving a child. The stain spread like a small bruise across the paper.
"Oh... Hell. I'm sorry." His voice was rough, yet sincere, edged with something she couldn't place. Was it a shame? Or maybe weariness?
Elena blinked, then shook her head too quickly. "It's fine. I... I should've moved it."
"No. That was on me." Adrian's frown deepened as he straightened, offering the faintest of apologetic smiles. "I'll... replace the paper?"
Her lips parted, and a laugh escaped, quiet and startled. "It doesn't work that way." She lifted the sketchbook, showing him the stained page. The smudged lines of his own half-drawn face stared back.
Adrian froze. Recognition flickered in his eyes. "That's..."
Elena snapped the book shut before he could finish. "Practice," she said quickly, defensive heat rising in her tone.
Something softened in him then. He didn't press further. Instead, he nodded slowly, as though accepting her answer without judgment. "Well... sorry again."
And before she could respond, he walked out into the twilight, boots heavy against the cobblestones.
Elena sat still for a long moment, her heart thudding too loudly in her chest. She pressed a hand against the cover of her sketchbook, feeling the dampness where the coffee had spilled. Her mind replayed the moment: the stumble, the apology, the way his eyes had lingered on her drawing.
She told herself she would forget. That he was just another stranger passing through the town. That his meeting, clumsy and fleeting, would fade like the tide.
But when she looked out the window, the stars were already scattered across the sky.
And though she didn't know it yet, the stars never let such meetings vanish.
They remembered.
And so, in their silent, watchful way... they began.