Every morning at 8:15, Lily sat by the same café window with her notebook. She wasn’t waiting for anyone—at least that’s what she told herself. Then one morning, as rain blurred the glass, she noticed a stranger across the street standing under a broken umbrella. He looked up, caught her gaze, and smiled.

It became a ritual. He passed by every morning, and she found herself waiting—heart racing if he was late, fluttering when he waved. Weeks passed before courage found her pen. On a napkin, she wrote: “Sit with me tomorrow?” and pressed it to the glass.

The next morning, the chair across from her wasn’t empty anymore.