Part 80
(Adrian's POV)
Adrian sat behind the counter, phone in hand, the café's soft hum drowned beneath the buzzing in his ears.
Another post. Another photo. Another wave of comments flooding in like a tide he could no longer stop.
"It's him, right? I know that smile anywhere!"
"Adrian working in some countryside café — unreal!"
"He looks so… calm. Almost like a normal guy."
His thumb hovered over the screen before he locked it and placed it face down on the counter. His chest ached in that strange, hollow way fame always found him — even when he wanted nothing more than to vanish.
He'd thought the countryside would swallow him.
But fame had a way of echoing louder in silence.
He rubbed his temple, murmuring under his breath, "Maybe I should just close the shop for a while…"
The words barely left his mouth before his mother appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. Her expression softened, but there was that familiar spark — the same one she used to have when he was a kid, standing on small stages, trying to sing his first song.
"Close the shop?" she repeated, arching a brow. "Why would you do that, my boy?"
"Mom," Adrian sighed, "people are showing up just to see me. Not for the coffee. Not for this place. It's chaos. I don't want to ruin your peace."
She stepped closer, the smell of roasted beans and warm bread following her. "Adrian," she said gently, "you've been running from your shadow long enough."
He looked up — really looked — into her eyes.
"You don't need to hide behind that cap or mask," she continued. "If they come here to see you, then let them see something worth seeing. Show them that even idols can work with their hands, that you're not afraid to live honestly. Be brave, my son."
Her voice softened, but her words struck something deep in his chest.
"Show the world what a real idol looks like — one who doesn't need the stage to shine."
Adrian's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to tell her that she didn't understand — that the world wasn't kind, that people loved to tear down what they once worshipped. But looking at her, he couldn't say it.
Instead, he smiled weakly and nodded.
"Okay, Mom."
The next morning, the mask stayed on the counter. The cap remained hanging by the door.
When he stepped behind the counter of Moonlight Brew, sunlight spilling through the glass and warming his bare face, a few heads turned immediately.
Whispers rose, phones discreetly lifted — but he didn't flinch.
He greeted the customers with a calm, practiced smile.
"Good morning. What would you like to drink?"
And when he caught sight of his reflection in the silver espresso machine, he saw something he hadn't in a long time — not the idol, not the fugitive of fame.
Just Adrian.
Free for the first time.
Outside, across the quiet street, a figure in a dark coat lingered by the bakery window, eyes fixed on the café sign.
Alex watched, silent.
Her lips parted, and a whisper escaped before she even realized it —
"There you are."