Shqip smiled, feeling a spark of attraction. "I'd like that," she said.
The friends exchanged hesitant glances, but Shqip found herself speaking up. "Of course, you can join us," she said, smiling.
"My name is Lek," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I couldn't help but notice that you all seem like friends. May I join you?"
One of the friends, a young woman named Shqip, felt a shiver run down her spine as their eyes met. She looked away quickly, trying to brush off the feeling of unease.
But as the night wore on, Shqip began to notice that Lek seemed to be hiding something. He would occasionally pause mid-sentence, his eyes clouding over with a mysterious expression.
Suddenly, the door to the café swung open and a stranger walked in. He was tall and lean, with piercing blue eyes and jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants, but there was something about him that commanded attention.
In a small café on the main street, a group of friends had gathered to catch up on each other's lives. They were all chatting and laughing, enjoying their coffee and traditional Albanian pastries.