Theme song:"All I want by Kodaline"
I never believed in "moments." Not the kind people write songs about. Not the kind that change everything, split your life into two parts—before and after. I always thought life was just about getting through it. Work. Study. Sleep. Repeat. Maybe a bit of light in between if you were lucky.
But then he walked into the café.
I can still remember the sound of the door chime. It was a soft, familiar sound, one I'd heard hundreds of times before. But that day, it felt different. Maybe because the rain outside was falling in sheets, making everything in the world look grey and muted, and I was stuck inside, wiping down tables like I did every morning.
I wasn't expecting him. None of us were, really. He was too out of place in our little café with its faded furniture and the smell of burnt coffee that clung to the air like it had settled there for years.
He walked in, and everything seemed to stop for a moment. He didn't seem to notice the world around him, his dark hair damp from the rain, a slight frown on his face. He was dressed in a crisp, white shirt—far too nice for a rainy Tuesday morning. But it wasn't just his clothes that caught my attention. It was his presence. The way he carried himself, like he belonged everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Confident, but not arrogant. Like he had secrets the rest of us could never understand.
And then, his eyes met mine.
"Do you make your lattes with actual care?" he asked, his voice smooth and teasing, as if the question were a challenge.
I blinked, unsure whether he was serious or just joking. "Excuse me?" I managed to say, blinking as I set down the rag I'd been wiping the counter with.
He smiled then, a smile that made something twist in my chest. Not the playful, flirtatious kind, but something deeper—something almost sad. "Do you?"
I looked at him more closely then. He wasn't just any guy. He wasn't some random stranger walking into the café. This was Elian Rowe, the tech genius who'd made millions by the time he was twenty-five.
I'd heard his name in passing at work. People talked about him like he was some kind of genius, a self-made millionaire who'd revolutionized the tech world. I'd seen his picture on the cover of magazines, but standing in front of me, he was just… a man. A man who wanted a latte.
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound casual as I began making his drink. "I guess I do. I make them with as much care as the coffee beans will allow."
He chuckled, a soft sound that made the air feel warmer, less heavy. "Fair enough."
I finished his latte, slid it across the counter, and expected him to leave. But he didn't. He just stood there for a moment, staring at the cup in front of him like it held some great mystery.
Then, as if the last few seconds had never happened, he looked up again, his eyes locking with mine. "Do you mind if I sit here?"
I froze, surprised by the question. Of course, I didn't mind. He could sit wherever he wanted. But there was something about the way he said it, like he wasn't used to asking permission. Like he assumed everyone would always say yes.
I nodded and pointed to an empty table by the window, not knowing why I was suddenly so aware of him, why my heart was beating just a little faster than it had been before.
He walked over, sat down, and I watched as he pulled out a book from his bag. No title on the cover. He didn't open it right away, though. Instead, he looked out the window, his face reflected in the glass, lost in thought. He looked like someone who had everything—success, fame, money—and yet, still wasn't satisfied. There was something hollow in his eyes. Something that felt… lonely.
I didn't know why I noticed that. Maybe it was because I felt the same way. Lonely. But I didn't think too much about it. I was just a girl working a shift, after all. He was just a customer.
But when I caught his eye again, I saw something shift in him, just a fraction of a second. Like he'd noticed me too, but was too afraid to admit it.
"I'm Elian, by the way," he said, breaking the silence as if it had been a conversation all along.
"Mira," I replied, my voice small, unsure of how to respond. "Nice to meet you."
For some reason, I meant it. Even though I didn't know anything about him. Even though I'd never have guessed we'd become anything more than strangers.
But that was before the hospital. Before the diagnosis.
Before everything changed.