Every morning, I’d stroll into my favorite café, order a vanilla latte with a hint of cinnamon, and settle into the same cozy corner with my sketchbook. Capturing the whimsical scenes of the world around me became my daily ritual. Little did I know, my routine was about to be delightfully disrupted.
One rainy Tuesday, a guy came in, drenched and clearly escaping the sudden downpour. He had this air of effortless charm and a camera slung over his shoulder. He settled into a table near mine and started setting up his gear. Our eyes met briefly, and I noticed the curiosity in his gaze as he glanced at my sketches. For days, we exchanged subtle glances and polite nods. Then one morning, my usual spot was taken, and I found myself sitting at his table. We exchanged awkward smiles, and he finally spoke up.

“Mind if I take a picture of your sketch?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.
“Sure,” I replied, slightly startled, “but only if you let me sketch you in return.”

From that moment, our daily coffee rituals turned into playful exchanges of art and photography. Each day, we tried to outdo each other in creativity, sharing not just our talents but our dreams, laughter, and a growing affection. One sunny afternoon, as we strolled through the park, he pulled out a small, worn-out envelope. Inside was a series of photographs capturing our journey together. The final photo was of me, sketching away in my favorite café corner.