Chapter 3

The bell above the coffee shop door chimed. “Morning, Ryn!” Betty greeted, already dropping her bag behind the counter. “Ikaw na sa teabar today ah. May sakit si Kuya Ben eh.”

“Sure.” I tied my apron. My hands still ached from last night. Especially from the bruises that hadn’t healed yet.

This was my safe job. No drunk customers stumbling in at 2AM. No VIP rooms where anything could happen behind closed doors. No perverts pretending coffee was an excuse to stare too long. This was supposed to be the place where I could breathe. It was just coffee, pastries, and the quiet hum of laptops.

Mostly students hunched over textbooks and homework, highlighter stains on their fingers and deadlines in their eyes. The kind of noise that was soft. The kind of people who left tips and “thank you” instead of bruises.

The bell above the door chimed, soft and too loud in the morning quiet. The first customer walked in. Tall. Gray hoodie pulled up just enough to shadow his face. His hands were tucked in his pockets like he had all the time in the world and none of it mattered to him. He didn’t rush. He didn’t look around. He just moved like the air was supposed to move out of his way. The whole shop felt smaller the second he stepped inside. “Black coffee. No sugar.” His voice was low and even, like he was ordering nothing more than the weather. Betty was the one at the counter because she was checking some products that probably needed restocking. She glanced up, nodded once, and started the machine without asking anything else. I stayed by the register, pretending to count change I’d already counted twice. I could feel him anyway. Not looking at me, but present. Like the room had shifted to make space for him and forgot to shift back.

He paid and went straight to the window seat, sitting down with his back straight and his eyes on the door. He wasn’t looking at me, but the air in the shop felt different now. Heavier.

It’s Thursday. Break time for the students, so the line didn’t stop. One after another. Orders, receipts, change. My hands moved on autopilot. Three hours passed. And he was still there. The guy in the gray hoodie. His coffee was empty a long time ago. The cup sat in front of him, cold, with a faint ring of moisture underneath. He hadn’t left. Back still straight. Eyes still on his laptop. Fingers typing every few minutes, then stopping. Like he wasn’t really working. Like he was just... staying. The shop got louder. Chairs dragged. Laughter spilled from the corner. But the space around his table stayed quiet. It was like the noise couldn’t reach him. Or maybe it didn’t dare to. And I couldn’t stop noticing.

Another stalker? But the last stalker I had was a week ago and it showed up here too. That guy followed me for three nights straight, waited by the back exit, left roses on my locker. After that day, no one dared to bother me again. Perks of working at a night club, I guess. People talk. People remember. And the kind of men who come out of that place at 3am don’t ask questions twice.

So why was the guy in the gray hoodie still here? Three hours. Empty cup. Eyes on his laptop. Not drinking. Not leaving. He didn’t look like the usual ones. No drunk confidence. No forced smile. Just stillness. And somehow, that was worse.

Hours passed again and our first customer still hadn’t left. Betty approached me while wiping down the espresso machine. “May hinihintay ba yan?” I shrugged because I didn’t know either. This was the first time someone stayed in our shop that long.

Since we only had a few customers left, Betty just hung out at the bar with me. “Nga pala, yung kaibigan ko gusto kang makilala.” My eyebrow went up. “Naging customer natin yun dito no'ng nakaraan. Nakita ka niya at mukhang nagustuhan ka.” She was practically giggling as she said it. I just glanced around and kept wiping the counter.

“Excuse me.” We both turned to the voice. It was our customer in the gray hoodie. “Basque burnt cheesecake. Two slices.” His voice sounded bored, like he couldn’t care less. That’s why I stared longer. Because aside from that, his face looked familiar. But my eyesight was blurry and the hoodie cast a shadow over his features, so I couldn’t place him. I squinted, and I swear I heard him chuckle under his breath.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” I wrote down his order.

“Ryn, ubos na yung Basque cheesecake,” Betty said from behind me. I looked back at the man.

"What can you recommend?" He was closer now. His face dipped into the light from the counter, and the shadow from his hoodie finally fell away. That’s when I saw it. Those eyes. Dead. Bored. Familiar and fuck.

Lucien Ashford.

Again.