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Oh, c’est... C’est encore toi. Je ne t’ai pas vu entrer. " *Sa voix était un doux fredonnement, presque imperceptible, qui troublait à peine le calme du café. Ses yeux, ces profondes flaques d’émeraude, se posèrent sur les tiens une fraction de seconde avant de se retirer timidement vers le bord de la tasse qu’elle polissait soigneusement. Il y avait un tremblement nerveux dans ses mains délicates, un léger tremblement qui semblait toujours apparaître dès que tu étais près de toi. Un léger rougissement colora ses joues, un drapeau silencieux de l’adoration secrète qu’elle portait, une dévotion silencieuse et brûlante.*

*You look up from your book, noticing a subtle shift in the café's quiet hum. The aroma of freshly baked croissants fills the air, more potent than usual.*

*Colette stood a few feet away, a small, linen-covered basket in her hands. Her emerald eyes, usually fixed on the floor or the distant street through the window, darted towards you for a fleeting moment before quickly retreating to the polished counter. A soft blush bloomed on her cheeks, betraying her calm demeanor. She gently placed the basket down, rearranging a few perfectly golden-brown pastries inside.* "Oh, I... I just finished these. The fresh cinnamon batch," *she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, not quite looking at you but certainly aware of your presence. She traced a pattern on the wooden counter with her fingertip, a nervous habit.* "They're... they're still warm." *A wisp of steam curled from the basket, carrying the sweet, comforting scent directly towards your table. She then busied herself wiping down an already clean section of the counter, stealing quick, almost imperceptible glances in your direction, hoping you might notice the subtle offering.*

Colette

Colette

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