Daisy worked in a regular corporate office — the kind where every day feels like a copy of the last. Meetings that run too long, a never-ending pile of emails, and too many hours staring at screens that blur together.

But there was one hour she looked forward to the most.

Every single day.

Between 5 and 6 PM.

Her coffee break.

She’d step out of the glass building, pick up her usual coffee from the corner café, and sit on the same bench outside her office. That was her tiny escape. A little moment of peace before the rush again.

From where she sat, she could see the hotel right across the road.

It used to mean nothing. Just another building.

Until that one random day…

She was sipping her coffee, lost in her phone, when she happened to look up.

And that’s when she saw him.

A man standing on the balcony of one of the hotel rooms, a few floors up.

He was handsome, no doubt. Foreign-looking. Calm. He wasn’t on his phone or pacing around like most people.

He was just… still.

Their eyes met.

He didn’t look away.

But she did , instantly. Flustered.

She brushed it off. Maybe he was just looking around. Maybe he wasn’t even looking at her. Probably nothing.

But the next day, she found herself glancing at that balcony again.

He wasn’t there.

The day after that? Still empty.

Then came Thursday. The weather was nice, soft sun, her coffee felt extra comforting. She sat at her usual spot, scrolling like always.

Then she looked up.

And there he was.

Same room. Same balcony.

But this time… he was leaning on the railing. Arms folded. Like he was waiting.

And again, he was looking straight at her.

Daisy froze for a second.

Her stomach did that flip thing.

It wasn’t exactly shock. It was something else. That strange, quiet feeling when someone remembers you — when you're noticed. Like you matter in a tiny corner of someone else’s day.

She quickly looked down. Pretended to scroll. Took another sip of coffee.

Her cheeks felt warm, and not from the drink.

Then, curiosity won, she looked up again.

He was still there. Still watching.

Not smiling or waving. Just… watching.

But this time, it didn’t feel weird.

It felt like something was happening. Like some quiet moment was unfolding between them. A scene on repeat — only now, it was on purpose.

And in that second, Daisy knew:

This wasn’t just coincidence anymore.

The next day felt… a little heavier. Not in a sad way. Just… quieter.

Daisy didn’t rush for her break like she usually did. She took her time replying to a few extra emails. Tied her ponytail again, even though it didn’t need fixing. Maybe, deep down, she was avoiding it avoiding hope.

Because realistically, what were the chances?

He was probably just a traveler. A tourist. Passing by.

And that balcony moment , that whole silent not-looking-away thing...maybe it was just in her head.

A crush. A coincidence. A pretty little idea her tired brain built a fantasy around.

So when 5 PM hit, she grabbed her coffee anyway. Because the bench was hers first... before all this balcony stuff.

She walked out, black top tucked into her grey trousers, a little tired, but still clutching that warm paper cup like a piece of comfort.

She sat down on her usual bench.

Took a breath.

And like muscle memory, her eyes lifted — straight to the 5th floor.

The balcony.

Empty.

No one there.

Of course not.

She sighed softly and half-smiled at herself. Silly girl.

She shook her head and quietly muttered under her breath,

"Maybe he checked out…”

That’s when she heard it.

A voice.

“Nope. Didn’t.”

But from right behind her bench.

She froze.

Before her brain could even process it, her hand jolted — and coffee spilled out of her cup, splashing onto the pavement and right across her black top.

“Shit—” she gasped, standing up in pure panic, heart racing.

She turned.

And there he was.

Him.

Not behind some glass. Not on some balcony.

Just… there.

In front of her. Real. Close.

He was in a hoodie now. Navy blue. Slight stubble. Taller than she expected. His voice calm, the same calmness he carried in his eyes that day.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quickly, raising a hand slightly, a small apologetic grin on his face.

Daisy’s mind was spinning.

He’s real. He’s actually here. He heard me.

“You—” she started, then stopped. Her hand went to her coffee-drenched shirt. “This is… wow. This is.....messy.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, eyes crinkling just slightly. “But I swear, it will be  too weird to shout from a balcony.”

She laughed — half embarrassed, half in disbelief.

“So you were watching me?”

“I was... but only because you were watching me first.”

That shut her up for a second.

He had noticed her too. From day one.

And just like that, the invisible thread between the hotel balcony and the bench finally tied itself into something real. Something with a voice. With closeness. With coffee stains and heartbeats and real smiles.

The silence they used to share from across the road — it was gone now.

Now, it was time to talk.

Daisy blinked, taking in the whole moment: her ruined coffee, the embarrassing stain, and the fact that this man — Balcony Boy himself — was now standing here like a real person. Not an idea. Not a fantasy.

He nodded toward the bench. “May I?”

She hesitated… then slowly sat down again. “Sure, you already spilled my coffee. What’s the worst that can happen now?”

He grinned and took the other end of the bench.

There was a pause. Just long enough to be awkward.

“So,” he started, turning toward her slightly, “this is weird, right?”

Daisy huffed a little laugh. “Wildly.”

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, by the way. I was just coming down for air, and I saw you sit. I figured…” he trailed off, shrugging, “...I’d say hi. Properly.”

She tilted her head. “This is properly?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, compared to long-distance staring from a fifth-floor balcony? I’d say yes.”

Daisy smiled. Finally, something about this whole thing felt less surreal and more… human.

“I’m Ethan, by the way,” he added after a second.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Ethan.”

“Yep.”

"Ethan"

“You’re not from here.”

It wasn’t a question — more like a realization wrapped in his voice.

The way he spoke… smooth, soft, undeniably British.

He smiled. “Caught me.”

“It was obvious,” she said, finally breaking the pause with a small, knowing grin.

A beat passed. Then she added,

“London?”

“Yeah, from London,” he replied, nodding lightly. “Just in town for a couple of weeks. Business trip. Work and all that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

“Daisy,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

He repeated it under his breath, almost testing the name.

“Daisy. Fitting.”

“Daisy… That fits.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Fits how?”

He motioned vaguely around her. “You, sitting here alone at 5 PM on this random bench, all thoughtful and soft-focus like a Pinterest board. You’re literally giving melancholy in a meadow. Daisy fits.”

She blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Okay, you rehearsed that one.”

“I didn’t. But if I had, I’d have delivered it with more flair.”

“Right, Mister Flair.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re kind of dramatic.”

“And you’re kind of avoiding coffee. Which is borderline criminal. Can I fix that?”

She smirked. “I’m not sure I trust you with caffeine responsibility.”

“Oh come on, you don’t even know me yet.”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. Then let me earn it.”

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and stepped to the side.

“Give me a sec—hello?”

His voice dropped an octave. His casual tone switched completely—his British accent sharper, posher, effortlessly smooth. Like BBC narrator meets royal aide. It was low, precise, rich.

“Yes, I’ve gone through the deck. No, they haven’t seen the revisions yet. But I’ve sorted it—tell Mum not to stress.”

Daisy stared.

Is he even speaking English?

He sounded like he belonged in a period drama. She blinked, trying to match the casual guy in front of her with the voice she was hearing. It wasn’t fake—it was just… polished. Like another version of him had stepped out.

He ended the call and turned back to her, casual again. “Sorry. Just work stuff.”

She gave him a look. “Was that… you?”

He grinned. “Told you I was from UK.”

“No, you told me. That? That was a reminder.”

He laughed. “Okay fine, I dial it down here. Don’t wanna scare off innocent bench girls.”

“Well,” she said, arms crossed but smirking, “a little warning would've been nice. I thought you were summoning Shakespeare.”

“I’ll do that after coffee,” he winked?”

She pretended to think. “Hmm... make it a surprise. Let’s see what Mr. Royal Telecaller picks.”

"Royal Telecaller woah.....interesting , Miss Daisy.”

“Life’s short,” she said. “So is this bench moment.”

He looked at her for a beat—really looked.

“Alright,” he said. “Challenge accepted.”

She blinked. “Wait… are you for real? Like, you’re actually offering me coffee?”

Ethan tilted his head, pretending to think. “Well, I did indirectly murder yours in cold blood. Seems only fair.”

Daisy glanced down at the brown stain on her shirt, lips twitching. “Tragic. Gone too soon.”

“So?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She stood up slowly, brushing off the bench. “Fine. But only if you promise not to call this a meet-cute. That’s where I draw the line.”

He stood too, holding an invisible halo above his head.

“Scout’s honor. No cheesy lines. Just caffeine. Straight from a humble London boy.”

She rolled her eyes, already walking. “Right. But just a reminder—this is India, not the UK. Keep the charm in check.”

He chuckled, falling into step beside her. “And yet, here you are… willingly following me to coffee.”

She smirked. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, London boy.”

And just like that, they strolled toward the café.

From quiet balcony glances…

to unexpected bench-side banter.

And Daisy couldn’t help the thought sneaking up in her chest

Maybe this wasn’t just a spilled coffee and a strange evening.

Maybe this wasn’t just a random crush at all.