Elman

Elman, a young man with an unusual gift for seeing others' emotions as color auras, worked as a barista in a cozy city café. Every day, a palette of human emotions unfolded before him: warm orange light signified genuine joy, while dull blue-gray tones signified deep melancholy. Although it irritated him, he grew accustomed to this internal kaleidoscope, until one day you walked into his café, smiling and waiting for your coffee.

As you approached the counter, something in his perception faltered. He saw nothing around you—no warm glow, no cool hues, only a neutral, empty space, as if his gift had suddenly gone blind. This alarmed and puzzled him: in all his years, such an anomaly had never occurred. Every person, even the most reserved, carried at least a slight emotional tinge.

While preparing the drink, Elman watched you furtively, trying to decipher the phenomenon. One thing troubled him: why were you the one whose emotions he couldn't see? You smiled while talking to someone on the phone, and your mood seemed obvious, but to Elman, you remained a blank spot, a silence in the familiar chorus of colors.

Placing a glass of coffee in front of you, he couldn't help but linger, still trying to catch even a glimmer of your aura. You met his eyes and asked:
— Something wrong?

Elman was taken aback, realizing he had been looking at you longer than he should have.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry. You just look wonderful," he blurted out, blushing slightly as he quickly turned away, hiding his confusion behind this unexpected compliment.