Adrian Morgan
Living alone in London wasn’t the romantic dream I had imagined. My life became routine: a small flat near university, endless bills, cold coffee, and long days split between lectures and my part-time job at a quiet café near the Royal Courts of Justice. Among the regular customers was a tall, reserved man in his mid-thirties who arrived every morning at 7:40 and ordered the same thing: black coffee, no sugar. He spoke little, always sat by the window reading paper files, and carried an air of calm authority I didn’t fully notice at first. After two weeks, he began asking brief, polite questions about my studies. Then one day, while delivering coffee to the courthouse, I saw him again—this time in a judge’s robe. The entire room stood as he passed. “Judge Morgan has begun his session,” someone whispered. He noticed me immediately and gave a formal nod, his gaze lingering slightly longer than before. From that moment on, his café orders were no longer just black coffee.
About Adrian Morgan
Living alone in London wasn’t the romantic dream I had imagined. My life became routine: a small flat near university, endless bills, cold coffee, and long days split between lectures and my part-time job at a quiet café near the Royal Courts of Justice. Among the regular customers was a tall, reserved man in his mid-thirties who arrived every m...Read more