The winter chill in Istanbul had a way of seeping into one's bones, no matter how many layers of wool one wore. Outside the cozy, steamed-up glass windows of The Hidden Bean, a light drizzle turned the ancient cobblestone streets into a shimmering, dark mirror.
Eshaal exhaled a soft sigh, her warm breath fogging up the glass for a brief second. She watched the people rushing by, tucked under their umbrellas, oblivious to the girl watching them from behind the counter. "Rain and coffee... a perfect combo for a lonely city," she whispered to herself. Her voice was barely audible over the rhythmic hum of the milk frother.
She quickly adjusted her messy bun with a plastic clip and tightened the strings of her faded green apron. To the world, she was just a clumsy, quiet barista working for minimum wage. No one knew that under this simple life, she carried a past that could shake the very foundations of the city she now called home. She was a ghost in plain sight, hiding from a life she no longer wanted to lead, praying every day that her shadow wouldn't betray her.
The morning had been slow, filled with the usual regulars. There was the old man who read the same newspaper for hours and the tired students arguing over their exams. Eshaal found comfort in the routine. It was safe and it was predictable. But the universe, it seemed, had other plans for her today.
The bell above the door chimed. It wasn't just a sound; it felt like a cold warning that vibrated through the floorboards.
The usual chatter in the cafe died instantly. The atmosphere shifted from warm and welcoming to cold and suffocating in a matter of seconds. Three men in sharp, charcoal-black suits stepped in first. Their eyes scanned the room with the lethal precision of hawks. They didn't look like customers; they looked like soldiers. And then, he walked in.
Aahil Reza.
The air in the cafe suddenly felt heavy, as if the oxygen had been sucked out by a vacuum. He wore a premium black overcoat over a crisp white shirt. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, clinging to his forehead in a way that looked effortlessly dangerous. His eyes were deep, cold, and calculating. They looked like they had seen too many secrets and had kept even more.
Eshaal froze. Her heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird desperate for escape. She had seen his face on billboards and news channels. He was the crown prince of the Reza Empire, a man whose name was whispered with both respect and a chilling fear in the dark corners of Istanbul. But seeing him in person was different. He didn't just walk into a room; he owned the very air people breathed.
As he approached the counter, the silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Eshaal's hands, usually steady from years of making lattes, started to tremble uncontrollably. She looked down, trying to avoid his piercing gaze, but she could feel his eyes on her, heavy and questioning.
"One Espresso. Black," his voice was a low growl. It was smooth, yet laced with a hidden edge that made her skin crawl.
"J-just a moment," Eshaal stammered, her voice betraying her completely.
She turned around, her mind a complete blur. Her thoughts were racing in a million directions. Does he recognize me? Is this how it ends? No, that's impossible. I'm just a nobody in a cafe. As she reached for a ceramic mug, her trembling fingers finally betrayed her. The mug slipped from her grasp, hitting the counter with a loud thud and splashing the scalding, dark liquid directly onto Aahil's pristine shirt and expensive overcoat.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the coffee machine seemed to stop hissing in shock. Eshaal felt the blood drain from her face.
"Oh Allah..." Eshaal gasped, her face turning deathly pale. "I-I am so sorry! I didn't mean to... please, let me help!"
In her absolute panic, she grabbed a handful of napkins and reached out to wipe his chest. It was a mistake. The bodyguards moved forward instantly, their hands reaching for the holsters beneath their jackets, but Aahil raised a single, gloved hand to stop them. His eyes never left Eshaal's face, tracing the fear in her eyes with a strange intensity.
He gripped her wrist as she tried to dab at the stain. His touch was icy, sending a jolt of electricity through her entire body that made her gasp. She looked up, finally meeting his gaze, and saw a flicker of something dark and ancient swirling in his pupils.
"Relax," he said. His voice dropped to a whisper that only she could hear, vibrating through the small space between them. "I'm the kind of man who's used to boiling in blood, little girl. Coffee doesn't scare me."
He leaned closer. The scent of expensive cedarwood cologne and rain overpowered the aroma of roasted beans. He took the napkins from her frozen hand, his fingers lingering against hers for a second longer than necessary.
"Next time," he leaned in until his lips were inches from her ear. His warm breath fanned her skin and sent shivers down her spine. "Try not to spill your fear along with the coffee. It leaves a much deeper stain."
He pulled back, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. It was a look that was both terrifying and breathtakingly beautiful. Without another word, he turned and walked back into the rain, his guards following like silent shadows.
Eshaal stood there, breathless and trembling, as the cafe burst into frantic, hushed whispers. She looked at her hand, still feeling the ghost of his cold touch on her skin. She had survived a confrontation with the "Devil of Istanbul," but she knew deep down that this was just the beginning. The secret she had worked so hard to bury was now standing right in the path of a storm she couldn't run away from.