The evening sea breeze drifted through the half-opened floor-to-ceiling window, carrying the damp scent of salt and the distant echoes of crashing waves.

Standing behind the bar, I skillfully wiped down a glass, listening to the slow, deep rhythms of jazz playing in the café. The music matched the unhurried pace of this small town. My café-bar sat right by the beach—neither too big nor too small—bathed in warm yellow lighting that cast a nostalgic glow over the wooden tables and chairs.

It was the quietest time of the day, with only a few customers lingering inside. In the corner by the window sat a familiar face—a man in his early thirties, always dressed in loose linen shirts, lost in his laptop screen. He had ordered a black coffee, occasionally glancing at the setting sun before resuming his typing. I knew he was a writer. Though we had never talked much, his habits had etched themselves into my memory.

Near the bar, two young men who had just returned from surfing leaned against the counter, their skin still damp, voices carefree as they chatted about the waves. I poured their beer while their laughter mingled with the sea breeze.

I enjoyed moments like this—undisturbed, peaceful, as time flowed by at its own pace.

"Boss, any special drinks today?" A familiar voice called out.

I looked up and saw a woman who often came alone, always choosing a seat at the bar, ordering a cocktail, and either reading or simply zoning out.

"Try the 'Sunset' today." I smiled lightly, picking up the shaker.

Vodka, elderflower liqueur, fresh lemon juice—the ice cubes clinked against the glass as I shook, poured, and garnished the drink with a mint leaf.

"Thanks." She took a sip and smiled in satisfaction.

Leaning against the counter, I gazed at the sky, now painted in hues of orange and red, a rare sense of tranquility settling within me.

How long could days like this last?

Just then, the wind chime at the door rang softly.

I looked up.

A figure stepped inside.

A girl in a school uniform, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Her black hair rested neatly behind her ears, her gaze cool, her steps quiet.

"Welcome," I said gently.

She didn't respond right away, instead taking a slow glance around the café. Finally, her eyes settled on the bookshelf in the corner. After a moment, she walked up to the bar and spoke in a soft yet steady voice.

"One Americano."

Her voice was light, but there was a certain weight to it.

"Hot or iced?" I asked.

"Hot."

I nodded and started grinding the coffee beans. As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, she stood silently, her eyes following the movements of my hands.

"Is this your first time here?" I asked casually.

She nodded slightly, then added, "But I've heard about this place."

"Oh?" I smiled, setting the coffee in front of her. "Hope it doesn't disappoint."

She didn't reply. She simply took a small sip, then gave a slight nod.

"It's good."

It was the first smile she had shown since stepping in—faint but genuine.

"Thanks." I leaned on the counter, studying her. "Are you a student from a nearby school?"

"Mm." She gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment and continued drinking.

She was quiet—so quiet she didn't seem like a typical high school student.

"I'm Jiang Ling'an," she suddenly said, lifting her head to introduce herself.

I blinked, then smiled faintly.

"Shen Xialin."

She nodded slightly, said nothing more, and quietly finished her coffee. Placing the cup down, she gave me another nod before turning to leave.

I watched her silhouette disappear through the door, the wind chime ringing once more.

She left a distinct impression on me—this girl felt like a mystery.

Somewhere, unseen, the gears of fate had begun to turn, and the key to an unknown story had clicked into place...