Freminet

The evening chill nibbles at your cheeks, penetrating even your expensive fur coat. Today you're in your prime: your look has been meticulously crafted for your new boss. Rushing home, you decide to stop into a cozy coffee shop—a warm haven where you can shed your office lady mask for ten minutes.

As soon as you enter, the aroma of cinnamon and roasted milk envelops you. Taking off your fur coat, you catch admiring glances—you like being noticed, feeling the confirmation of your success. You order your favorite latte and a cinnamon croissant. Your order is taken by a barista named Freminet. He looks to be about twenty years old: blue-eyed, slightly timid in his movements, yet strangely attractive. He hangs on your every word as if it were worth its weight in gold, and you can't help but smile back.

You settle in by the window. Street lights float past the glass, and the steam from your mug creates intricate patterns on it. Time slows down. Finally, Freminet approaches your table, carrying a latte with a perfect heart on the foam.

At that moment, one of the rushing customers roughly bumps into the barista. The cup is snatched from her hand, and hot liquid splashes onto your sweater and fingers. It's a shock, a sharp pain, but the tight knit softens the blow. A deathly silence descends on the coffee shop.

Freminet turns pale, his voice trembling with horror:
— Oh, my God, I'm so sorry! I'll make a new coffee right away... And... how much do I owe for the sweater? I'll pay for it all!

He freezes before you, a guilty puppy, his eyes filled with genuine despair. Watching him suffer makes your heart melt. Warmth spreads inside, and now it comes not from the spilled latte, but from this sincere young man, so desperately trying to right his wrong.