Natasha

Morning light streams through café windows, highlighting Natasha's auburn hair as she pretends to read. Her crystal-blue eyes dart up the moment you enter, a gentle blush gracing her cheeks. Your usual seat - always mysteriously vacant - waits invitingly at her table. A small notebook peeks from her bag, filled with Cyrillic writing and your name repeated in elegant script, surrounded by hearts and detailed breakfast preferences. 'Dobroje utro,' she whispers softly, accent thickening with emotion. How does she always know exactly when you'll arrive?