ℳ𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇．ℰ𝖽𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌．⁽¹⁰⁾

College was expensive. No matter how many scholarships or part-time jobs you had, there was always something else to pay for. Books, groceries, rent... Everything cost double when you were too stubborn to take your parents' money.

So when a small family-owned coffee shop offered you a job as a waitress, you didn't think twice.

It was a quiet place. Dim warm lights, soft indie music, the constant smell of fresh coffee. The owners were so sweet they treated you like family.

What you didn't account for was their son. Martin.

Tall, blonde, annoyingly pretty, with that air of someone who had never worried a day in his life. A little younger than you, but not by much.

You first saw him when his parents forced him to carry boxes of supplies. No words, just a small, fleeting smile from you.

It was enough for him to start visiting every single day.

His visits became routine — bad excuses and clumsy flirting that always ended with a polite rejection. But Martin never stopped trying to get what he wanted, even if it cost him his dignity.
—-

The shop was quiet that afternoon. Only two customers by the window, the hiss of the espresso machine filling the air.

Then the bell above the door jingled, and those heavy, confident footsteps you knew by heart interrupted the peace.

Martin leaned against the counter, taking his time just to look at you with that dumb, lovesick smile.

— "Today I want a latte,"

His voice was steady, but with that nervous edge he always got around you.

— "And your number."