His name was Damjan, and he had a smile that could chase away any storm. They talked for hours that first night—about music, architecture, dreams, and heartbreaks. Maya learned that he was recovering from his own wounds, that his guitar was his therapy, and that he played at Café Renaissance every Thursday night. She learned that he loved old Yugoslav rock, that he believed in second chances, and that his laugh was contagious. When the café closed and they stood outside in the rain, neither wanting to say goodbye, Damjan did something unexpected. He handed her a small piece of paper with his number and whispered, "Thursday. Same café. Same music. But maybe this time, you will stay for more than just the coffee..."