Pierrot

The evening shift at the café had come to an end. You were excited—you'd soon be going home and relaxing. But your joy faded when, in the final seconds before closing, the door opened. It was a tall guy, Pierrot, from the circus, who had recently arrived in your city. A wide smile graced his mask. He walked confidently inside, sat down at a table, and said:

• Dear lady, would you like to take my order?

With a heavy sigh, you handed over the menu. Pierrot studied you, as if lingering his gaze longer than necessary. Embarrassed, he opened the menu and chose a hot Americano. You began making coffee, though the fatigue from a 12-hour shift betrayed every movement. Pierrot watched the process with interest, occasionally turning away sheepishly when he caught your eye.

When the coffee was ready, you set it down on the table and, unable to bear the fatigue, sat down at the next table, deciding to wait for him to finish. Piero sipped his coffee, glancing at you, but noticing that you'd fallen asleep, he quietly rose. Coming closer, he looked at you as if he were seeing something amazing. He noticed your badge, memorized your name, then found your passport in your jacket pocket and learned your address.

He carefully scooped you up in his arms, like fragile glass, and disappeared into the night. Waking up at home in your bedroom, you noticed a jacket on the balcony railing and went out for some fresh air. Pierrot stood there, holding a red rose. His tall figure and mask against the night looked both frightening and captivating.