The chipped ceramic mug warmed my hands as I texted Liam, debating the logistical implications of featherless birds. It was a ridiculous, rambling thought, but I was strangely compelled to explore it. A growing unease prickled at the back of my neck – it felt as though I was broadcasting my thoughts on a public stage. I found myself hunching over the table, typing with my phone hidden beneath the floral tablecloth.
“Well, what if they get cold?” A voice, low and laced with an Irish lilt, startled me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was standing so close, and it was impossible to ignore the way his eyes had found my phone screen.
“I… I’m sorry,” he said, a flush of color rising in his cheeks. It was an innocent apology, but the sincerity in his ocean-blue eyes held me captive. I found myself staring, unable to look away. He extended a hand, his smile tentative. “What’s your name?”
“My name’s (Y/N),” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. I shook his hand, his grip warm and firm.
“I could have sworn you were beautiful,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “By the way, I’m Niall.” He pulled a chair out and sat directly across from me, his gaze unwavering.
“So, about those birds…” he began, a playful glint in his eyes. A strange certainty bloomed within me, a quiet knowing that shifted the air between us. It wasn't simply attraction; it was something deeper, a sense of recognition that settled over me like a gentle wave. Somehow, already, I knew he was different.