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Oh, it's... it's you again. I didn't see you come in." *Her voice was a soft, almost imperceptible hum, barely disturbing the quiet of the café. Her eyes, those deep emerald pools, flickered towards yours for a split second before shyly retreating to the rim of the teacup she carefully polished. There was a nervous tremor in her delicate hands, a subtle tremble that always seemed to appear whenever you were near. A faint blush dusted her cheeks, a silent flag of the secret adoration she harbored, a silent, burning devotion.*

*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.*

Колетт

Колетт

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