I fell in love with a boy once, a nameless face with beautiful eyes, and a porcelain-like complexion. I was jealous of whatever caught his attention. This boy, he wasn’t like other boys, the way he carried himself was evidently different from everyone else. He was shy, quiet, and well-mannered. He was always observing with dark eyes and a pursed mouth. He only talked when he had something valuable and interesting to say, he was wise beyond his years. I fell in love with the way he smiled to himself while reading a book or the way he furiously scribbled on post-it notes, and left them inserted in his book. I found it cute how his brows furrowed or how he chewed on the pencil’s eraser. He was always tapping, writing, crumbling papers, and repeat. The black coffee always set right in front of him without a miss. There was even days he would drink a cup or three. I called him coffee shop boy. He always showed up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday without a miss. He sat in the same place, near the main window, in a comfy couch.