The morning sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, gently waking Claire Johnson. The room is eerily silent. The fatigue from yesterday still lingers, but the image of the mysterious man from the night before refuses to fade. His intense gaze and cold demeanor felt like a puzzle, lingering in Claire's thoughts.
"Maybe he's just an ordinary customer," she shakes her head, trying to push these thoughts away and focus on the new day's work.
However, when she stands behind the counter of the café again, she can't help but frequently glance toward the door. Though customers come and go, her heart quietly expects the arrival of someone.
Time passes by in the busy hum of the café, until the evening approaches and the familiar chime of the door rings again. A cool evening breeze brushes Claire's cheek as he walks in. As expected, it's him.
Once again, he's dressed in a dark coat, with that same elegant yet distant air about him. The man enters the café as if separating himself from the noise of the city. His gaze briefly scans the room before finally resting on Claire.
"Welcome," Claire says, trying to keep her voice steady, though her heart rate quickens.
He nods slightly and walks directly to the counter. "Espresso, double shot, no sugar."
"Okay, please wait a moment," Claire quickly prepares his coffee, but countless questions swirl in her mind. Why does he always come at night? Why does he always choose the darkest corner of the café? What is it about his eyes that always carry an unspoken loneliness?
The coffee is quickly ready, and she hands him the cup. As before, he moves to the corner, where he settles into his seat. Throughout the entire exchange, he says little, but every word seems carefully considered, calm, and tinged with indifference.
Claire's gaze follows him involuntarily. In the dim light, he appears even more enigmatic, almost as if he belongs to a different world entirely. She can't help but feel curious, but at the same time, she's afraid to overstep and invade his personal space.
"Claire, your eyes are practically glued to him," Lisa's teasing voice cuts through from across the counter.
"Don't be silly," Claire quickly averts her gaze, pretending to be busy adjusting the menu.
"He's quite special, isn't he?" Lisa continues, wiping down the coffee machine. "I've noticed he only comes in at night, and his demeanor is so graceful. Honestly, he seems to be from a different world than us regular folks."
Claire doesn't reply, but she silently agrees with Lisa. This man is indeed different. His presence seems to subtly change the atmosphere of the café whenever he arrives.
As the night deepens, fewer customers remain. Claire assumes he will leave as quickly as he did last time, but instead, he stays seated in the corner, holding his coffee cup, his gaze fixed on the window. The streetlights outside cast a soft yellow glow, and the pedestrians are sparse, with only an occasional car passing by, leaving a trail of fading taillights.
"What's he looking at?" Claire wonders. His stare is distant, as though he's not seeing the street outside but something much farther away.
Finally, he sets his cup down, stands, and walks toward the counter. Claire is busy tidying up the table, but she feels his gaze settle on her.
"Thank you," he says in his usual calm tone.
"You're welcome. We look forward to seeing you again," Claire replies, raising her eyes. For a brief moment, their gazes meet. In that instant, she almost thinks she catches a flicker of emotion in his deep eyes—was it loneliness? Or perhaps some silent struggle?
He doesn't say anything more and turns to leave the café. The doorbell rings softly as he walks out, and the night air sweeps in once more, stirring a few napkins that had been left on the counter.
Lisa picks up the napkins, laughing as she looks at Claire. "Do you think this handsome guy has a thing for you? Don't let the opportunity slip by."
Claire smiles but shakes her head, though she can't shake the many questions swirling in her mind. She doesn't think this man has any interest in her, but there's a sense that he might be here for some purpose, or perhaps carrying some unspoken secret.
That night, Claire sits by the window, replaying every detail of the mysterious man in her mind. His voice, his gaze, his movements, and that fleeting sense of detachment.
"Who is he?" she mutters to herself. "Why does it feel like he doesn't belong here?"