What can one glance do?
Let’s say—a guy sits in a café, sipping coffee, watching the street.
An ordinary guy, nothing special. He looks out the window at the sea, drenched in sunlight. Beautiful.
He must be waiting for someone.
A handsome fellow, travelling light. Maybe he’s come to visit his parents.

Stop! Parents? I know everyone in this little town.
We’ve never had such a tanned, striking stranger living here. I would know.

The pastries are ready—better take them out. Cups into the washer, too.
As Mama says: “Never postpone small things—later they pile up.”

I’ve lived here all my life and can’t imagine a better place.
Some dream of the big city nearby, but it’s cozy here.
I was born here, and all I remember is love and care.
It lives in our home; it smells of morning coffee with a crisp croissant, of clean linen, of sea and fish.
It shines in Mama’s eyes and glows in Papa’s smile.
It gathers us for evening tea and gives us sweet memories of the day.
It’s in bedtime prayers, in warm embraces,
and, of course, in the endless starry sky, in the fiery sunrise and rosy sunset that attract wealthy tourists.

Mama likes to tidy up for them and later tells how amazed they are by the peace of our town—
how, after the city noise, they sink into our calm and love.
Everyone lives this way here—in peace, quiet, and affection.
Only in summer the young come on holidays—to splash in the surf and scatter crystal drops of laughter.

But this one—something’s off.
He’s not local. Not a student on vacation…

And again, I’m watching.

At the far table, a man has finished his coffee—time to clear it.
“Finished? How was the pastry?”
“Thank you, the cinnamon roll was divine.”
“Mama bakes them. Would you like another?”
“Yes, please. And another coffee… and a glass of water. I’m expecting company.”

I’m lucky with this job. Came right after college—the owner needed help.
I’ve known him long; he and his wife often visited us. Their kids moved away, and his wife fell ill, so I came to assist.
I love keeping order—everything in its place.
That’s from Papa. Once, on his boat, I noticed how much fits into such a small space.
He said, “Sometimes that saves your life—when you don’t look everywhere, you reach right where it belongs.”

Oh! What an entrance—arriving on a black motorcycle, all dressed in white.
Like a rider from another world.
Yesterday, too, a huge biker came—leather jacket over a shirt and tie. He brought the owner home after he’d crashed his tiny scooter.
Yes, bikers visit us often lately…

This one walks—confident, calm, and radiant.
Give her wings—she’d be an angel.
She heads to the far table—to the man who praised the pastry.

The handsome one can’t take his eyes off her.
That look—bold, oily… yes, typical seducer.
How did I not see it right away?
What’s he doing here? In our town there’s no one to court so openly…
And yet—something stirs inside me.

Well, time to polish the glasses. I love that squeak—as if they gain noble clarity.

Those two are watching him too…
Oh! She looked at me. Such a warm gaze… like Mama’s.
I look into her eyes and can’t turn away. And she keeps looking.
Mama told me once that an Angel’s gaze gave her courage to open her heart to Papa, and since then, they’ve been together.
She called that angel Astrena.
Could it be that this striking biker woman is an angel? Astrena?

She turned away.
My heart’s racing…
She’s up. Walking out.
Stopped by the handsome stranger, bent to his ear…
Everyone in the café froze.
She whispered something—
and walked out, firmly, into the light.
A shatter of glass, a flash—
light… light…

What was that? A draft?
The glass doors—smashed to pieces!
I don’t understand… everyone’s rushing outside.
And he just sits there, staring at a white feather.

The owner runs in, half-smiling, half-annoyed.
More trouble he didn’t need.
I try to comfort him:
“What a draft! Never seen anything like it. How will we fix it?”
“Funny thing,” he says. “I cut two panes just like that yesterday. Fifteen minutes, and it’ll be good as new.”
“You must’ve felt it coming.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, and disappears inside.

I tidy up and return to work.
And… he’s looking at me.
A completely different look now—not that of a seducer. Warmth, confusion, a question… and something else.

Oh! Now I get it! I know her.
He was waiting for that new woman who rented the house on the cliff three months ago.
That’s who he came for.
She greets him gently and sits opposite.
He seems… lost.

Well then, I’ll offer more coffee.
“Hello. Would you like something? Maybe coffee?”
“Double espresso…”

He looks at me like I’m a lifeline.
A thought flashes—yes, you like me too.
My cheeks burn. He notices, swallows hard…
Could it be—so easy?
I pour the coffee, touch my nose nervously, giggle.
But I like him, and… he likes me.

He speaks nervously, gestures. Looks like an argument.
Or maybe he’s trying to say goodbye…
She looks crushed, lips trembling, but holds herself together.

“Your coffee.”
“Thanks. How much?”
“Two forty.”

She leans back, takes out a bill.
“Here. Keep the change.”
Slowly stands and walks out, brushing the new glass doors with her shoulder.

“Now it’s just us,” the handsome man says, looking straight into my soul.
“Us? … Oh, yes.”

He’s right. He said it.
And I’d been waiting for it—since the moment he walked in, sat at the table, watching that radiant woman who shattered the glass…
Who was she?

“It was Astrena.”

We—I—flinched.
The man who’d praised Mama’s pastry stood nearby, hands in his pockets, smiling.

“Astrena is the guardian of love and resolve,” he said.
“And you?” we asked in unison.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is—you’re together now.
Maybe you’ll forget her. Maybe you’ll forget me.
But you’ll remember the glance.
Your first glance.
The one that changed everything.”