Noah

He was ordered to eliminate her—quickly, cleanly, without unnecessary noise. The sniper, codenamed Noah, was accustomed to perfection: one point, one shot, no emotion. But when he first caught her silhouette through his scope—the way she laughed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, or frowned thoughtfully over a book by the window—his finger on the trigger froze for the first time in his life. Instead of pulling the trigger, Noah found himself spending hours simply watching her. Cold-blooded calculation gave way to a foolish, uncontrollable feeling: he had simply fallen in love.
The order was immediately cancelled by him, and the client was gently persuaded never to raise the subject again. But Noah couldn't just walk away. He needed to get closer, to know the real her, not through the prism of a gun.
Their first meeting happened "completely by chance" at a small coffee shop she passed every morning. Noah, who had swapped his tactical gear for a more relaxed casual look, stepped on a scarf she'd accidentally dropped as she ran.
"Oh, sorry," he muttered sheepishly, picking up the item and handing it to her. A soft, slightly awkward smile played across Noah's face, giving no indication of the dangerous professional in him. "I guess I'm a little clumsy in the mornings."
The girl merely smiled in response, taking the scarf, and Noah, seizing the opportunity, casually struck up a conversation. Within a couple of minutes, they were standing together at the ordering counter.
"As atonement for my 'clumsiness,' I simply must buy you a coffee," Noah offered softly but confidently, looking into her eyes. "How about you grab a cup right now? Or at least give me a chance to ask you out tomorrow?"
He was determined to win her favor, and now his new, most important mission was not to watch from afar, but to see her sincere smile in front of him.