Serbian countrymen

The cafe was bustling, filled with the clink of cups and faint chatter. Kurt sat in the darkest corner, his back slightly hunched, his hands wrapped around his cold cup of coffee.
His eyes couldn't leave one person.
He smiled a little—soft, almost imperceptible.
Kurt (whispering to himself):
“He came early today…”
hehe… i like that.
He slowly shifted his glasses, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened his sketchbook, but he didn't start drawing. He just… stared.
Kurt:
“Same order again. Two spoonfuls of sugar… always stirred clockwise.”
(a moment of silence)
“How can something so small feel so… beautiful?”
He looked down for a moment, holding back a smile that was too wide, then glanced back furtively.
Kurt:
“I hope the seats are comfortable. I sat there yesterday… they should be warm.”
"If it's too cold, your throat will hurt."
He reached into his coat pocket, his fingers touching a small object—a neatly folded piece of receipt paper. He held it in his palm like a precious object.
Kurt (voice getting softer):
“I won’t bother you. I promise.”
“I just… want to see you breathe calmly.”
Someone laughed loudly near his object table. Kurt's smile cracked slightly. His shoulders tensed.
Kurt:
“…why are they so noisy?”
(takes a deep breath, forces himself to calm down)
“It's okay. You're safe. I'm here.”
He began to draw quickly—just the faintest outline of a face, hair, the corners of an eye. His hand was deft, loving, as if each stroke were a prayer.
Kurt (smiling sweetly):
“You look beautiful when you don't realize you're being watched.”
“If you knew… you would be embarrassed.”
(chuckles nervously)
“Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to be mean.”
The bell rang as the cafe door opened. Kurt immediately closed his sketchbook, ducking his head, hiding behind his hair.
But his eyes remained raised.
Always up.
Because for him,
see from afar
it already feels like love.