Three weeks had passed since the afternoon she'd chased a familiar silhouette through a crowd, convinced for a breath of time that her dream-man had stepped into the real world. Three weeks of telling herself she'd imagined it.
By now, the idea that she might actually meet the man in her drawings had faded into a soft, almost embarrassing memory—something she kept tucked between the pages of her sketchbook like a pressed flower. Pretty to look at, but not real.
Which was why, on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday morning, Lila walked toward Caffè Onda with her tote bag swinging at her hip and absolutely no expectations.
The café sat on a sloping street near Arno. Quaint, unassuming, and filled with the smell of roasted beans. She had only discovered it recently and liked how quiet it remained before noon. The owner, a grandmotherly woman with startlingly sharp eyebrows, made a matcha latte that Lila had become mildly obsessed with.
The bell chimed as she stepped in. The place was near empty. Perfect.
She approached the counter, fishing for coins in her bag. "Good morning, signora. A matcha—"
"Out," the owner interrupted with a sigh. "Shipment late. I can make you something else, bella."
Lila stared. Then sighed. "Really? Today?"
The woman shrugged. "Coffee maybe? It's all anyone needs, no?"
Coffee. She just never understood the craze.
Her lips formed a reluctant line. "Fine. Coffee. Surprise me. But gently."
As she waited, Lila moved toward her usual table near the window. It was only when she sat down that she noticed the man on the opposite side of the café—broad shoulders, tall frame, head slightly tilted as he examined something on his phone.
Her heart stopped.
Her mouth dried.
Her fingers went numb around the edge of her notebook.
It was him.
Him.
The man she had drawn three hundred and seventy-two times. The one whose face had waltzed through her dreams since she was sixteen. The one she had chased through crowds weeks ago. The one she had convinced herself wasn't real.
He was real.
And sitting casually at Caffè Onda like he hadn't been haunting her subconscious for years.
Her mind scrambled for logic. Was this a coincidence? A trick of the light? Another lookalike?
But then he lifted his head, looking toward the window, and Lila felt the air shift.
It was him.
Exactly him.
Down to the faint shadow of a man bun, the sharp jawline, the strong nose, the eyes—deep, hooded, thoughtful.
He looked like he belonged in a painting.
She must have been staring too long, because suddenly, he glanced her way.
Their eyes met.
Time folded in on itself.
And he smiled.
Not a big smile. Not a casual one. A small, quiet curve of his lips that softened his entire face. A smile she'd never seen on him in her dreams.
Her heart sprinted.
He stood, walked over with calm self-assurance, and stopped in front of her table.
"Excuse me," he said, voice deep, warm, smoother than anything she could have imagined. "You were looking at me like you recognized me."
Her brain screamed: DON'T SAY I'VE DREAMT OF YOU FOR SEVEN YEARS.
Instead, she let out the first thing her nerves allowed.
"Oh. No—I mean yes. I mean… maybe?"
His brow lifted in quiet amusement. "That sounds… complicated."
"It is," she admitted, pressing her hands to the table to keep from shaking. "But not in a creepy way. Or maybe in a slightly creepy way. But not dangerous creepy. Just regular… human creepy."
He laughed. The sound punched through her chest like a soft explosion. He had a nice laugh—warm, grounded, a little surprised.
"I'm Asher," he said, extending a hand.
She took it automatically, electricity shooting up her arm. "Lila."
"Nice to meet you, Lila." His gaze flicked to her notebook. "You're an artist?"
Oh God.
She snapped the book shut so fast the sound echoed.
"Sometimes," she said breezily. Too breezily. "Not professionally. Just recreationally. Very recreationally. Like… Olympics-level recreational."
He laughed again.
Her coffee arrived then, the owner placing it on the table with a suspicious look at Asher, as though assessing whether he was worthy of standing near her matcha girl. She walked away slowly—watching them, but pretending she wasn't.
Asher nodded at the drink. "You like coffee?"
"No," Lila admitted. "But I'm trying it today. Growth or whatever."
He smirked. "You picked the right place. They make the best coffee and I lucked out with it being near my office."
"Where do you work?"
"Some tech company," he said lightly, as though it explained nothing. "I run it, actually."
"You're the boss?"
He shrugged—humble, almost bashful. "I suppose, yes."
"Well," she said, leaning in, "I'm honored you share a caffeine radius with me."
He smiled. "Is that what this is?"
"It is now."
The conversation unfolded effortlessly.
What surprised Lila most wasn't the surrealness of his face up close—it was how normal the conversation felt, despite her inner hysteria. Asher wasn't distant or cold. He wasn't intense the way he was in her dreams. He was thoughtful, witty, occasionally sarcastic in a charming way.
"So, do you come here often?" he asked, lips twitching in amusement at the cliché.
"Yes, actually," she said. "I've been coming for weeks."
"Weeks?" he echoed, eyebrows raised. "Funny. I've been coming here for months. Never saw you."
She sipped her coffee, grimaced, and forced a smile. "Maybe we're on different schedules."
"Or," he said, tilting his head, "the universe was stalling."
Her breath caught.
Was he flirting?
She tried to stay calm. "The universe does that. Very dramatic. Loves a reveal."
He leaned his elbow on the table. "And what a reveal."
Her face heated. Stop blushing, stop blushing, stop blushing.
"I wasn't prepared for this," she muttered.
"For coffee with a stranger?"
"No," she said honestly. "For you."
Their eyes met again. And for the first time, she realized something she had never accounted for in all her sketches:
His eyes were kind.
Not mysterious. Not haunting.
Just warm.
Human.
And somehow, that made him even more unreal.
He noticed her staring and teased gently, "You're doing it again."
"What? Staring? No, I'm observing. Artists observe. It's very professional."
"You said you were recreational."
"Recreational professionals exist."
He laughed, shaking his head. "You're something."
She grinned. "I get that a lot."
They stayed at the café longer than she expected, long enough for her to forget she'd tried coffee, long enough for her to realize she wanted this moment to stretch. Neither rushed to leave.
Eventually, Asher glanced at the time. "I have to get back to the office soon. I've got a meeting. They'll start without me if I'm late, but they'll also glare at me when I arrive."
"Ah. The burdens of a boss."
"Exactly." He hesitated, then said, "I come here most mornings. If you're around… maybe we could do this again?"
Lila's heart skipped. "Yeah. I'd like that."
His smile widened—small, bright, sincere.
"Good. Then I'll see you soon."
He walked out, hands in his pockets, steps easy and sure.
The bell chimed behind him.
And Lila sat frozen, coffee untouched, brain fried, heart spinning, trying to process the impossible truth:
The man she had dreamed of for seven years just walked into her life…
And smiled at her.