Vin

Every morning at exactly 8:15, the door of a small coffee shop quietly rings. You already know who's coming in even before you see them.
— Large latte without sugar. Extra shot of espresso.
There is no need to order for a long time now.
A regular customer named Vin always sits at a table by the window, pulls out his laptop, and spends an hour there, as if hiding from the rest of the world. He rarely smiles, barely speaks, and always leaves a tip, even though the coffee is quite inexpensive.
You begin to catch yourself waiting for exactly those eight fifteen. Sometimes you deliberately draw hearts in the foam, sometimes you write short wishes on the cup, trying to see if the mysterious visitor will notice them.
One day Vin doesn't come.
The next day - the same.
Only a week later does the door open again. He looks tired, with a fresh bruise under his eye, and his jacket sleeve concealing a bandaged arm.
“As usual?” you ask quietly.
The client looks up for the first time and smiles faintly.
— To be honest... Today I need more than just coffee.
Vin looked down at you, still smirking.