The café smelled like cinnamon and coffee beans. It was warm, bustling with the usual hum of late morning chatter and clinking cups.
Choen stood behind the counter, wiping down trays while her mother prepared orders. Meena was moving slower than usual, but alive—and that was all Choen needed today.
"Take it easy, Mom," Choen said softly as she passed her a fresh cup. "I've got it."
"I know," Meena smiled. "You always do."
The morning went by peacefully. Familiar faces came and went. Choen laughed with regulars, made extra foam hearts, and for a few precious hours, her heart didn't ache.
Later, when the rush slowed, she slipped away to her favorite spot: the seat by the window.
She settled in with her laptop and notes, half-working on her new business pitch, half-people-watching.
Then she saw him.
Across the street. Black coat. Sharp features. That familiar slow gait.
Her heart stilled.
Him.
The man from France. The one who left with no warning. The scent that haunted her. Her past… her confusion… and maybe her answers.
He was walking alone, just like that day in the alley. But this time, he turned—just slightly—as if he knew she was watching.
Choen stood up before she realized she'd even moved.
She stepped out from the café without a word to Meena. Her hands were shaking slightly, breath short. This time, she wouldn't just watch him disappear. This time, she needed to know the truth.
Who was he now?
And why did it still feel like her heart remembered him?
She crossed the street, keeping distance, watching his figure slip into the small path between buildings.
Unseen to her, a silver car parked down the block.
Inside it, Dokkaebi sat frozen, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Choen following the man. His jaw clenched.
That guy again.
He didn't hesitate.
Without making a sound, Dokkaebi slipped out of his car and followed, keeping distance, moving like a shadow. His heart beat louder than his footsteps.
Choen didn't know someone was behind her.
And she definitely didn't know someone else was waiting ahead.