The warm hum of a bustling café wrapped around you as you sat in a quiet corner, sketching absentmindedly in your notebook. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the soft strum of an acoustic guitar playing through the speakers. This little café was your sanctuary, a place to escape the whirlwind of city life and lose yourself in creativity.

Today was no different—or so you thought.

The door jingled softly, and you glanced up instinctively. A man walked in, pulling his hood lower over his face as he scanned the room. There was something oddly familiar about him, though you couldn’t place it. Shrugging, you went back to your sketch, but moments later, someone cleared their throat beside you.

“Excuse me,” a voice said, smooth and warm. “Is this seat taken?”

You blinked up at him, and your heart stuttered. It was Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of you, his doe eyes cautious but kind. You knew him instantly—not just from the stage and screens, but from the countless moments his voice had accompanied your loneliest nights.

“N-no,” you stammered, moving your things aside. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” He slid into the seat, pulling his hood off now that he was out of the public eye. His black hair framed his face perfectly, and he offered a small smile. “It’s packed today, huh?”

You nodded, trying not to stare. “It usually is around this time. It’s my favorite spot, though.”

“Mine too,” he said, glancing around as if he was savoring the space. “It’s peaceful here.”

The conversation could have ended there, but Jungkook glanced at your notebook and tilted his head. “What are you working on?”

You hesitated, suddenly shy. “Oh, just… doodling.”

“Can I see?” he asked, his tone light but curious.

You handed over the notebook reluctantly, and he flipped through the pages, his eyes lighting up. “These are really good,” he said, pausing on a detailed sketch of a street scene. “Do you draw professionally?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just a hobby. Something to clear my mind.”

Jungkook smiled softly. “That’s how music is for me, too. Even with all the pressure, it’s the one thing that grounds me.”

For a moment, you were stunned. He spoke so casually, as if he weren’t one of the biggest stars in the world. But there was a vulnerability in his voice, one that made him feel human, real.

“Do you come here to escape?” you asked gently.

He nodded. “Sometimes. It’s hard to find places where I can just… exist. No cameras, no expectations.”

You could sense the weight in his words, and without thinking, you said, “Well, if you ever need a quiet spot, I’m usually here. No cameras, I promise.”

Jungkook laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I might take you up on that.”

From that day on, Jungkook did come back. At first, it was sporadic—a quiet nod across the room, a brief chat before he slipped away. But soon, it became a routine. He’d bring his notebook, sometimes a guitar, and sit with you in your little corner.

You talked about everything—art, music, dreams, and the little things that made life meaningful. Despite his fame, Jungkook was down-to-earth, thoughtful, and endlessly curious. He asked about your sketches, your favorite books, the songs that made you cry.

In return, he shared pieces of his world—the challenges of performing, the thrill of creating music, and the moments he felt most alive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the café in a golden glow, Jungkook brought his guitar.

“Can I show you something?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Of course.”

He strummed a few chords, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. Then, he began to sing—a soft, heartfelt melody that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

The lyrics spoke of quiet moments, of finding light in unexpected places, of a connection that felt like destiny. It was beautiful, raw, and deeply personal.

When he finished, he looked at you, his expression shy. “What do you think?”

You blinked back tears, unable to find the words. “It’s… perfect,” you whispered. “It feels like—”

“Us,” he finished, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Your breath hitched. “You wrote that about us?”

Jungkook nodded. “You reminded me what it feels like to be seen—not as a singer, not as someone in the spotlight, but just as me. I wanted to capture that.”

In that moment, the world outside the café faded away. It was just the two of you, two souls who had found each other in the most unexpected way.

From then on, your connection only deepened. Jungkook continued to visit, each moment more precious than the last. And though you knew his life was complicated, filled with challenges you could barely imagine, you never doubted his sincerity.

Months later, as you sat together in the café, he reached for your hand.

“I don’t know where this journey will take me,” he said softly. “But I want you to be a part of it. If you’ll have me.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Under the soft glow of the café lights, you knew this was just the beginning—a story of two people who had found each other in the chaos, and who would hold on, no matter what.

The rain drizzled softly, painting the streets of Seoul with a shimmering glow. You tugged your coat tighter around you, cursing yourself for forgetting an umbrella it was crealy mentionedin the news it was gonna rain. The café across the street offered a warm refuge, so you darted through the puddles, water splashing at your ankles.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped inside. The air smelled of coffee and freshly baked pastries, and the chatter of a few patrons created a comforting hum. You found a corner seat, grateful to escape the chill.

As you scrolled through your phone, you felt a presence. Glancing up, you saw him—a man with dark, slightly damp hair and a black hoodie that obscured his face. He carried an air of quiet confidence, but there was something achingly familiar about him.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice warm and smooth.

You blinked, startled, but shook your head. “No, go ahead.”

He smiled—a small, almost shy curve of his lips—and slid into the chair across from you. For a moment, you studied him discreetly, trying to place where you’d seen him before. Then it hit you.

“Wait… are you—”

“Jungkook,” he interrupted softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Jeon Jungkook, the global sensation from BTS, was sitting across from you in a tiny café on a rainy evening.

“I… uh… wow.” You struggled to form words, and he chuckled, the sound warm and inviting.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone teasing. “I’m just a guy trying to escape the rain. I won’t bite.”

You laughed nervously, and the tension melted away as the conversation began to flow naturally. Jungkook talked about his love for quiet moments like this,away from the spotlight, and how the rain always made the world feel more alive.

“And what about you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “What brings you here tonight?”

You hesitated but found yourself opening up about your stressful week, your mundane struggles, and your dreams of pursuing something bigger. He listened intently, his gaze steady and kind.

“I think you should go for it,” he said after a moment. “You never know what could happen unless you try.”

His words lingered, their sincerity striking a chord deep within you.

As the hours passed, the rain outside slowed to a soft patter. Jungkook glanced at his phone reluctantly. “I should go,” he said, pulling his hoodie up.

You nodded, though you wished the evening could stretch on forever.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft. “For…...everything.”

He smiled again, reaching into his pocket and scribbling something on a napkin. He slid it across the table before heading toward the door.

When you unfolded it, you found a phone number and a short note: “For when you decide to go for it. Let me know how it turns out.”

And just like that, beneath the city lights, your life felt a little brighter.

Seoul was alive at night, the city humming with energy as neon lights reflected off the rain-slick streets. You clutched your scarf tighter against the cold as you meandered through the bustling streets, searching for solace after a long day. It had been one of those days—work was exhausting, deadlines loomed, and you felt the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders.

The small, tucked-away café you stumbled upon seemed like a sanctuary. It wasn’t flashy or crowded, just a cozy little spot with warm lights spilling through the windows. The scent of roasted coffee beans wafted out as you pushed the door open, the bell above jingling softly.

The café was nearly empty, save for a barista wiping down the counter and a lone figure seated by the window, a hoodie pulled up to obscure his face. You didn’t pay much attention, opting instead to order a latte and settle into a corner table.

You pulled out your notebook, hoping that writing down your thoughts might clear your mind. The blank page stared back at you, taunting your inability to focus. With a sigh, you glanced around the room, and that’s when you noticed him.

The man by the window was sketching something in a small notebook. His fingers moved deftly, his focus unwavering. There was something captivating about his quiet concentration. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he looked up.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. His eyes were dark and expressive, framed by thick lashes. He gave you a small smile, one that you quickly returned before looking away, your cheeks warming.

You tried to return to your notebook, but your thoughts were elsewhere. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn’t quite place it.

Minutes passed before you heard a chair scrape against the floor. Looking up, you saw him approaching your table, his sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“Hi,” he said, his voice smooth and warm. “Mind if I join you?”

“Uh, sure,” you managed, still caught off guard by his presence.

As he sat down, you got a closer look at him. His features were striking—sharp jawline, soft lips, and a nose that belonged in a painting. Then it clicked.

“Wait… are you Jeon Jungkook?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips quirked into a sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s me. But let’s keep it quiet, okay?”

You nodded, still processing the fact that Jungkook was sitting across from you.

“What brings you here?” you asked, trying to mask your nervousness.

“I like places like this,” he said, gesturing to the cozy surroundings. “Quiet, out of the way. It gives me a chance to breathe.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment. “I can see why. It’s a nice escape.”

He glanced at your notebook. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, nothing much,” you said, closing it quickly. “Just trying to clear my head.”

He tilted his head, curiosity evident in his gaze. “Mind if I see?”

You hesitated but eventually slid the notebook across the table. He opened it, scanning the few scribbled sentences and half-formed ideas.

“This is good,” he said, his voice sincere. “You write beautifully.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

The conversation flowed naturally after that. Jungkook talked about his passion for art and music, how he loved drawing when he needed a break from the chaos of his career. He listened attentively as you opened up about your struggles, your dreams, and the doubts that kept you from chasing them.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “it’s easy to feel stuck, like your dreams are out of reach. But sometimes, you just have to take a leap of faith.”

His words resonated with you, their sincerity cutting through the haze of self-doubt.

The hours slipped by unnoticed. The rain outside had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the city lights. The barista began cleaning up, signaling that the café was closing.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Jungkook said, standing and slipping his sketchbook into his bag.

You followed him outside, the crisp night air hitting your face. For a moment, you stood there together, the city quiet around you.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For listening. And for the advice.”

He smiled, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling something down, he handed it to you.

“Here,” he said. “In case you ever need someone to remind you to take that leap.”

You looked at the paper—a phone number.

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze. “Are you serious?”

He chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I be? You seem like someone worth knowing.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “This feels unreal.”

“Sometimes the best things do,” he said, giving you a small wave before turning to leave.

As you watched him disappear into the night, the weight you’d been carrying felt a little lighter. You clutched the piece of paper tightly, the edges softening under your fingers.

That night, for the first time in a long while, you felt hopeful. Beneath the city lights and the remnants of rain, your ordinary life had taken an extraordinary turn. And perhaps, just perhaps, it was the beginning of something incredible.