Chapter 3: The Man Who Watched the Morning

He didn’t believe in chaos. But some mornings had a way of rewriting quiet lives.

The soft hum of music filled the room- the kind that didn’t demand attention but lingered in the air, like a heartbeat. The blinds were half-open, letting sunlight slip through in uneven bands that stretched across the floor, landing on carefully stacked books, a vinyl player, and a single plant he watered every morning without fail.

Adrian stood by the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Everything about him spoke of control-the way his beard was trimmed to precise edges, the faint scent of sandalwood and soap, the quiet focus in his eyes. He was kind of man who noticed details-the alignment of his watch, the crease of his shirt, the rhythm of his breath.

He didn’t believe in rushing, or in caffeine.
Coffee, he thought, was kind of chaos-too bitter, too restless. He preferred herbal tea, the sort that tasted clean and left no trace behind.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, slightly tousled but intentional. His reflection stared back-tall, broad-shouldered, the quiet kind of handsome that didn’t need effort. His smile-when it came-was rare, brief, and enough to make anyone pause. But his eyes… they were deeper than they should be, the kind that carried unspoken stories and half heated wounds.

He adjusted his glasses, picked up his keys, and let out a small breath.
The city outside was waking up, and he moved with it-calm, deliberate steps through the noise and blur.

Adrian believed in balance: morning jogs, reading before bed, music that didn’t need lyrics. He loved how light changed through the day- how dawn felt helpful, and dusk forgiving. He believed the world offered quiet miracles if one only slowed down enough to see them.

But that morning - something was different.
A missed turn, maybe. Or a pull he couldn’t explain.

As he walked, the air smelled faintly of roasted beans and sugar. The sound of laughter floated from a narrow corner. And then, he saw it - Chapter and Brew.

He’d never noticed it before.
A cafe with warm wood panels, old books stacked by the window, and a small flower stand outside-lilies, daisies and a bucket of sunflowers catching the light.

He stopped, He didn’t even like coffee.
But something about it-the stillness, the sunlight spilling across the glass, the faint music- made him hesitate.

Maybe it was the flowers.
Maybe it was something else.

Adrian stepped inside.

The bell above the door chimed softly, the air wrapped him in warmth and cinnamon, and somewhere behind the counter-someone yet unseen.

He didn’t notice.
Not yet.