I sneaked in, trying to stay out of sight. Finally, I found a seat at a dimly lit corner diagonally behind Elvis, where I could see them clearly, but they wouldn't notice me—a prime spot.
With everything ready, I zoomed in my camera, capturing every move Elvis and his confidante made.
In the frame, Elvis' confidante was crying pitifully, as though her heart was breaking.
But that heartless jerk, Elvis, showed no sympathy, not even offering her a tissue.
Feeling a mix of sympathy and frustration, I couldn't help but curse him in my heart.
What a cold-hearted scumbag!
And how blind must that woman be!
The scene was so still. I lost my appetite.
Come on, kiss! Hug!
Do something exciting!
Just as I was lifting my coffee to perk myself up, the woman suddenly became agitated and reached out to grab Elvis' hand.
My excitement spiked.
In my excitement, I lost my grip, and the coffee spilled onto the floor.
The sound echoed crisply through the quiet café.
Elvis and his confidante turned their heads simultaneously, and I quickly crouched down to hide.
As I scrambled to crawl under the table, Elvis walked over and picked me up like a kitten.
I grinned foolishly at Elvis, trying to cover up my sneaky behavior.
Elvis narrowed his eyes, his brows arched, but he unceremoniously snatched the phone from my hand.
Does Elvis like me?
