He was always there. In the same spot, at the same table, at the same time. The boy with the curly brown hair, and dark eyes. He had a nice smile; I knew because he smiled at me everyday when I walked in for coffee. He was always very deep into what he was doing, which was was usually drawing. He would sketch away with his pencil, and rub his hand along the back of his neck when something didn't look just right. He seemed very passionate about what he was doing. It always interested me, so I watched him as if pencil moved so elegantly across the page. I watched him, and not until I watched closer did I realize he was watching me sometimes, and would look away once he met my gaze. One day I finally had the courage to ask him what he was drawing. I saw a slight smiled begin to form at the corners of his mouth, before he moved his arm from over the picture, and turned it around. For a moment I stood there, just admiring the picture that was drawn so well. I looked at it, before a smile formed on my face, that mirrored the one in the picture.