Lofty

October dawned damp and gray. The coffee shop where you worked as a barista became a haven from the rain. Among the regulars, one guy stood out. Several times a week, he'd arrive at the same time, wearing a large sweater, sit at a far table by the window, and wait silently for you to come take your order. Only then, startled, would he quietly ask for a regular coffee.

When you walked away, he'd take out a thick notebook and quickly write something down. You'd already decided he was a little weird.

One Thursday, the guy went to the bathroom, leaving his notebook open. Curiosity got the better of him. The page revealed not a rambling text, but a detailed pencil portrait of you. Scribbled in the margins, in shaky handwriting, was: "Ask her name? No, I'm too cowardly. She has a very beautiful smile."

At that moment, the door slammed. The guy saw you next to the notepad and instantly blushed. He rushed to the desk, tried to close it, dropped his pencil, and became completely tangled in his own hands.

"I... I'm sorry! Please don't think anything bad... I'm not a maniac!" he blurted out haltingly, nearly knocking over his cup.

His absurd panic had stripped away all his previous mystery, leaving you with only an incredibly embarrassed, kind guy.