Haruka sat at her usual corner of the café, a blanket scarf wrapped around her shoulders like a warrior's cloak—proof that she had survived the Battle of the Pillows and lived to tell the tale. Her laptop was open, but instead of typing, she just stared at the blinking cursor. Again.
Sayuri's going to kill me if I come home empty-handed, she thought, sipping her caramel latte like it might give her divine inspiration. Maybe if I stared at this screen long enough, the words would just appear... but so far, nothing.
Across the room, someone sneezed—and that was when she saw him.
Table 9.
Messy dark hair, round glasses slipping down his nose, and a book titled The Ethics of Artificial Intelligence propped open with one hand while he sipped black coffee with the other. He had that slightly nerdy but effortlessly cool vibe going on—the kind that screams "I can write code, adopt three kitten and save climate change all at the same time." Haruka squinted, her heart racing slightly, as if her brain was screaming "DON'T YOU DARE!" while her eyes continued to drag across the room toward him.
Was that... a spark?
She looked away quickly. No no no no. I am not doing this again. I am not falling for another guy I know absolutely nothing about!
She looked back.
...Okay but he has really nice hands.
As if on cue, Momo, who had clearly decided that café visits were now his thing too, hopped onto her lap to inspect the muffin she had thoughtfully brought for herself. He sniffed at it for a moment before deciding it was more fun to paw at Haruka's manuscript notes.
But then, Momo did the unthinkable.
With a swift flick of his fluffy tail, he bumped the latte right off the edge of the table. The drink splashed across her notes, the hot caramel liquid staining the pages in a grotesque display of liquid revenge.
Haruka shrieked. "Momo! You fluffy traitor!"
The guy at Table 9 looked up, startled by the sound of her dramatic outburst.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, Haruka was frozen—like she was starring in one of those dramatic, slow-motion scenes from a romcom. But instead of flowers or dramatic music, all she could hear was the frantic "OH MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING?" echoing in her head.
Just then—of course—Momo, with all the dignity of a dog on a mission, hopped off Haruka's lap and trotted straight toward the guy at Table 9. Tail wagging like he'd just found his soulmate, Momo rolled over onto his back, belly exposed in what could only be described as an adorable flirtation attempt.
Haruka's mortification hit an all-time high. "Oh my god, Momo, don't you dare flirt with him!"
But Momo had already made his decision. He was rolling around like a fluffy bundle of joy, tongue lolling out in the most undignified way possible.
The guy at Table 9 chuckled and leaned down to pet Momo, scratching him behind the ears. "Hey there, buddy. What's your name?"
Haruka shot to her feet in an attempt to rescue the situation, flustered beyond belief. "U-uh, that's Momo! He's... mine. Sorry, he tends to... flirt with everyone."
The guy looked up, grinning, and then glanced at Haruka with a softness in his expression that made her feel like she might burst into flames. "He's got good taste. What kind of dog is he?"
"A chaos demon," Haruka muttered under her breath, though she had no idea why she said it. She scooped Momo into her arms, who immediately started wiggling in her grasp, clearly enjoying the attention. "But technically, he's a Samoyed."
The guy raised an eyebrow, amused. "A Samoyed, huh? Sounds like he lives up to the name."
"He's definitely got the personality for it," Haruka replied, her voice shaky, her face flushed. She had no idea how she was still standing. "Anyway, I should probably—uh, go now."
She made the mistake of turning too quickly, and her foot got caught on the edge of the table. As her body lurched forward in an almost comical display of clumsiness, she just barely caught herself before she collided with a chair.
Her face turned redder than a lobster, and she was pretty sure she could hear the theme music for a comedy show playing in her head.
Back at her table, she dropped into her chair and buried her face into her scarf, willing the ground to swallow her up. "Great. Smooth, Haruka. Real smooth. You practically murdered any chance of a normal interaction."
She stared at her soaked manuscript. The coffee had left large brown marks that would probably never come out, much to her horror.
"Well," she sighed, "there goes that idea." She glanced over at the guy at Table 9, who had returned to his book, but Momo, of course, was still happily napping at his feet. "Maybe I do need a new crush."
The thought was both absurd and kind of hilarious. Because here she was, getting all flustered over a guy she knew nothing about, other than the fact that he could probably solve a complicated equation while making her heart race like a runaway train. But seriously, me and attractive strangers? This is the beginning of a romcom cliché just waiting to go wrong.
A small, cynical voice in her head whispered: Table 9. Chapter title?
Haruka grinned faintly despite herself. Maybe she could write today after all.
But just to be safe, she took a deep breath and made a silent vow to keep her writing completely free from any more awkward encounters with cute guys. After all, what could possibly go wrong? Right?
As Momo snoozed away, oblivious to his matchmaking powers, Haruka stared at the screen. The cursor blinked in time with the rhythm of her pulse. She could do this.
She could write. Or at least try to.
And somewhere, out there, the guy at Table 9 was reading about artificial intelligence—and maybe wondering just how much chaos was hiding behind the caffeine stain on her manuscript.