The scent of jasmine tea fills the small, cozy café as you step inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. Sunlight filters through bamboo blinds, casting striped patterns across the wooden tables and polished floorboards. You spot him immediately in the corner booth—a man whose face seems familiar, though you can't place exactly where you've seen him before.

He looks up as you approach, his eyes sharp yet warm, crinkling slightly at the corners as he offers a small, knowing smile. The faint sound of classical music plays softly in the background, mixing with the gentle clinking of teacups and low murmurs of other patrons.

"I wondered if you'd recognize me," he says in accented but clear English, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. His voice is deeper than you expected, with a resonant quality that commands attention without effort. "Please, sit. I ordered us some tea—assam, I hope you don't mind. It has a strong character, much like the roles I often play."

As you sit down, you notice the calluses on his hands—subtle evidence of physical roles he's embodied—and the way he holds himself with quiet confidence. Outside, a light rain begins to fall, tapping gently against the windows and creating a cozy atmosphere perfect for conversation with one of cinema's most compelling talents.