The boardroom reeked of cold ambition and leather seats. Collin Cooper sat at the head of the long polished table, pen in hand, mind miles away.
Another pointless meeting. Another parade of half-smiling executives pretending they knew what legacy meant.
His father hadn't even bothered to show up.
"Too busy," the message had said. "You're the heir now. Time to act like one."
Collin hated it. Hated the suits, the schedules, the shallow smiles. Cooper Industries — a name that carried weight in the city — meant nothing to him except pressure. He hadn't chosen this life. It had been chosen for him. All because of a surname printed on glossy stock certificates.
When the meeting finally ended, the skies had cracked open like something divine was mourning too. It was pouring. Sheets of rain blurred the world into watercolor.
Collin stepped into the storm with nothing but his coat and frustration.
That's when he saw it.
A small café tucked between two old bookstores — warm light spilling onto the sidewalk, soft music humming behind the glass.
He didn't hesitate.
The moment he stepped in, the scent of cinnamon and fresh espresso wrapped around him like comfort.
He shook the water from his coat, pushing back his rain-drenched hair, but his attention snapped to her instantly.
There weren't many people inside — a couple near the window, a barista in the back — but it was like the world dimmed and she stepped into focus.
She stood behind the counter, hair tied loosely, apron slightly flour-dusted, her face soft and strikingly serene. There was something in the way she moved — quiet but intentional. No dramatics. No pretension. Just… presence.
Her skin was a soft pinkish hue, like she carried a flush of poetry in her veins. But what stopped him—froze him—were her eyes.
Grey.
Not cold.
Just endlessly deep. Like clouds before a thunderstorm, filled with things unspoken.
"How have I never seen her before?" he thought.
He'd lived around this area for years. Knew most places, most people. Yet somehow, this woman had escaped him — and now, she was all he could see.
Collin straightened his posture, trying to shake the odd flutter in his chest. He hated feelings like this — feelings he couldn't control. But whatever was stirring inside him wasn't going away.
He approached the counter, casual but not too casual.
Don't stumble. Don't over-smile. Just be normal.
"Macho, but not a jerk." He could already hear his sister's sarcastic advice.
"Sorry," he said, clearing his throat, giving a soft cough just to break the silence. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
Her head turned, and their eyes met.
Damn.
Those eyes up close were worse. Dangerous. They held sadness — raw and recent — but also strength. He could see it in the way she didn't flinch when she looked at him. She saw him. Really saw him.
He offered a small, crooked smile. "Just needed something warm before I melt."
Her smile — hesitant but real — landed in his chest like a match.
"No interruption at all," she replied, voice soft. "Rough weather tonight."
"Rough day," he corrected under his breath, then added, "Hot latte. Oat milk, if you've got it."
"We do," she said, turning to the machine. Her movements were graceful, efficient. She didn't flirt, didn't stall. But there was something magnetic in the quiet way she worked — like watching art unfold.
Collin studied her discreetly. The way her fingers moved. The faint redness around her eyes, like she hadn't slept well in days. The tension in her jaw she tried to hide. She was tired — but not broken.
When she returned with the cup, their fingers brushed.
He caught her scent — warm vanilla, a hint of lavender, and something like nostalgia.
"Thanks," he murmured. "I needed this more than I thought."
She looked up at him and gave him that same small, sad smile.
"So did I," she replied.
He blinked at that.
There it was again — that feeling. Not attraction. Not just beauty.
Recognition.
Like two people carrying silent storms… had just found shelter in the same place.
Collin sat by the window, notebook in hand, latte cradled between his palms. He glanced at her again. She was already back at work, wiping down a tray.
But every few seconds, his eyes wandered back.
Who are you?
And why do I feel like I've known your sorrow long before I met your smile?