✧ Chapter 1: Burnt Nerves & Cold Coffee ✧
Monday.
Everyone was in a rush, the kind of rush that made people bump shoulders and mutter apologies with half a smile.
Inside Café Roselle, the air smelled like roasted beans, burnt nerves, and a hint of cinnamon.
It was packed — as usual.
Students hunched over laptops, office workers whispering over meetings, and friends stealing mid-morning gossip. The place was alive with soft jazz and clinking cups. Rulena Bugrenge, 22, part-time student and full-time café owner, stood behind the counter — hair tied up in a loose clip, apron slightly stained from oat milk, and a polite smile trained on her lips.
She was tired, yes. But she loved the chaos.
This café was her space, her peace, her fight. She’d built it from scratch — and today, she was helping her staff manage the storm.
And then... he walked in.
---
The bell above the door jingled as a man stepped inside — tall, dressed in all black, and carved from the cold air outside.
Black turtleneck. Charcoal blazer. Long coat that brushed past his knees. Sharp jawline. Sharper eyes.
He didn’t look around. Didn’t hesitate.
He just walked straight to the corner and sat down like he belonged there — laptop open in a second flat.
No smile. No glance. Just business.
One of the waitresses quickly approached.
“Welcome to Café Roselle, sir. What can I get for you today?”
He didn’t even look up.
“Strong cappuccino.”
Short. Clipped. Almost robotic.
She nodded and hurried away to place the order — and then got caught in the wave of new customers.
Ten minutes passed. His cup sat forgotten at the counter.
When it finally reached his table, steam was long gone.
He took one sip and snapped.
---
“What is this?”
His voice cut clean through the café’s noise.
“Why is this cold? I ordered a cappuccino over fifteen minutes ago. And this is what I get?”
The waitress froze. A few heads turned. Her cheeks flushed.
“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I was juggling the other tables and—”
“Do I look like I care about your multitasking skills?”
His tone was sharp. Cold.
“This is basic service. If you can’t serve a simple cup of coffee properly, maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
The poor girl shrank under his words.
From behind the bar, Rulena had been watching. And that? That was her cue.
She walked over — calm, composed, and straight-backed.
---
“Excuse me, sir,” she said politely, standing beside his table.
“I’m really sorry about the delay. We’re definitely short-handed this morning.”
Her voice was firm now.
“But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t raise your voice at my staff. Everyone here is doing their best, including you, I’m sure. So let’s try not to make this personal.”
He looked up — really looked at her this time.
And for a heartbeat, she couldn’t tell if the frown on his face deepened or softened.
“Are you the manager?” he asked.
“Owner,” she replied.
His gaze lingered for a second. Dark. Unreadable. Then, he stood up.
“Forget it.”
He placed the cash on the table — more than enough — and walked out, coat trailing behind him, jaw tight with silent frustration.
He didn’t take the coffee. He didn’t say thank you.
He just left.
---
Rulena let out a slow breath and glanced down at the untouched cup. The waitress beside her looked on the verge of tears.
“Hey, don’t worry,” she whispered, nudging the girl gently. “He wasn’t mad at you. Just the world.”
But inside, she couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at her.
Not angry. Not apologetic.
Just... intense.
Like she’d surprised him.
✨ Author’s Note:
Who is this cold mystery man in black? 👀
He just made one hell of a first impression… but is he just a rude customer, or something more?
