Part 75
(Adrian's POV)
It was one of those lazy afternoons when everything felt suspended — sunlight filtering through the trees, the shop door half-open to let in the breeze, soft chatter drifting from a few regulars.
Adrian had gotten comfortable here.
Too comfortable, maybe.
He laughed more now, spoke freely to customers, even started helping his mother with deliveries around town. The quiet rhythm of the countryside had sunk into him — slow, gentle, safe.
Today, he was wiping the counter when a group of university students came in — strangers passing through on a weekend trip. They were loud but friendly, excited by the old-fashioned café tucked between the hills.
"Whoa, this place is cute," one of them said, snapping photos of everything — the sign, the cups, the old espresso machine.
Adrian smiled behind his mask. "Welcome. What can I get you?"
They ordered, chatting among themselves about how peaceful it was here. He made their drinks quickly, the motion practiced and effortless.
But when he leaned forward to place the cups on their table, his cap slipped off.
Just a second — but it was enough.
The sunlight caught his face — familiar, unmistakable, even softened by time.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then one of the girls blinked, her mouth parting.
"…Wait. You look just like Adrian."
The name hung in the air like a spark.
He chuckled, trying to make it sound casual. "I get that sometimes," he said, pulling his cap back on, adjusting the mask. "Just coincidence."
But another student frowned, eyes narrowing. "No, seriously. Same eyes. Same voice. Are you—"
"I'm not," he interrupted, gently but firmly. "Just a barista. Enjoy your coffee, okay?"
They laughed awkwardly, but curiosity lingered in their glances. One of them, quieter than the rest, lifted her phone subtly — a soft click breaking the air.
He noticed too late.
By the time they left, chatting and smiling like nothing happened, his chest was tight. He tried to tell himself it was fine. Probably nothing. Just a photo. Just coincidence.
But when the shop closed that night, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
He wiped the same counter twice. Then three times.
And when he finally checked his phone before bed, his heart stopped.
A post had begun to circulate online — blurry, captioned with curiosity:
"Met this barista in the countryside… doesn't he look exactly like Adrian ?
#WhereIsAdrian"
Hundreds of likes already.
Comments piling up.
His hands trembled slightly as he locked the phone.
The world had looked away once — and now, it was starting to look again.
And far away, somewhere in the city, someone else might see that same photo.