New York mornings are always noisy, with the sounds of car horns, pedestrians' footsteps, and the mechanical rumble from distant construction sites blending together to create a symphony of city life. Claire Johnson stands behind the counter at the café, skillfully packing a latte for a customer while smiling at the next one in line. The daily rhythm is like a well-rehearsed script, and she plays a small, insignificant role within it.
"Claire, one more Americano!" her colleague, Lisa, calls out from behind the machine.
"Okay, coming right up!" Claire replies, expertly operating the coffee machine. The familiar aroma of coffee fills the air, offering her a small sense of comfort.
The hectic pace of work leaves her little time to glance outside at the bustling street. But in the rare moments of pause, she steals a glance at the endless stream of people. She enjoys observing the expressions on their faces, imagining their stories—are they tired office workers or cheerful tourists? Everyone is busy, and Claire, too, strives to move forward in her ordinary life.
At that moment, the café's doorbell rings lightly as the door opens. A breeze sweeps in with the footsteps of a newcomer, bringing an inexplicable sense of tranquility.
Claire looks up and sees the person entering. He is unlike anyone else in the crowd. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his face stern yet with an air of elegance. His deep eyes seem to pierce through a person's heart, seeing into the depths of their soul. His attire is simple yet refined, and his dark coat sways gently in the breeze, giving him an aura of solitude and composure.
"Welcome, what can I get for you?" Claire tries to keep her voice steady, but she knows her gaze lingers on his face involuntarily.
"Espresso, double shot, no sugar," his voice is low and magnetic, with a tone of quiet certainty.
Claire nods and turns back to the coffee machine. She feels a pair of eyes watching her—a gaze that is observant but not unfriendly. She struggles to focus on her work but can't entirely ignore the subtle presence.
The steam rises from the coffee machine, and she quickly pours the coffee into a cup, then hands it to him. "Here's your coffee, enjoy."
He takes the coffee, nodding slightly, then walks toward a small table in the corner. His movements are graceful and natural, yet there is an undeniable distinctiveness about him.
Claire can't help but look at him a few more times. He chooses a seat that is perfectly shaded by the curtains, contrasting sharply with the bright sunlight outside. He sits quietly, holding the coffee cup in one hand, seemingly indifferent to everything around him.
"Claire, what are you staring at?" Lisa taps her shoulder from behind, teasing her.
"Nothing..." Claire quickly lowers her head, pretending to tidy up the table, though her cheeks flush slightly.
The man doesn't stay long in the café. He soon gets up, returns the empty cup to the counter, and gives Claire a slight nod. "Thank you."
Claire nods, but before she can respond, he has already left. The doorbell rings again, and his coat tails disappear into the flow of pedestrians on the street.
"Who was he?" Lisa asks curiously during a brief lull in the café.
"I don't know." Claire shakes her head, but the image of the man lingers in her mind. She had never seen someone like him before—his demeanor seemed out of place in the city, yet it felt so natural.
The busy day passes quickly, and Claire drags her weary body back to her small apartment. After freshening up, she sits by the window, staring blankly outside, but the image of the mysterious customer keeps creeping back into her mind.
"Claire, you're just tired," she mutters to herself, trying to push away the thoughts.