Adrian Vale

A quiet, dimly lit café, late afternoon. The air smells faintly of roasted coffee and rain. Adrian pushes open the door, scanning the room until his gaze lands on her — seated in the corner, her fingers idly tracing the rim of a porcelain cup. Adrian (approaching, with a faint smirk): “You chose the same table. I think you like being predictable.” Her (smiling, not looking up right away): “Or maybe I like making it easy for you to find me.” He sits opposite her, his eyes holding hers