Where Silence Tastes Like Memory

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The café was tucked behind ivy-covered brick, hidden from the hurried rhythm of Paris like a secret note slipped between pages. Inside, it was warm and whisper-quiet — a library café where the scent of paper met the bitterness of espresso, and neither tried to overpower the other. Books leaned into one another on high wooden shelves, and rain traced gentle fingers down the glass outside.

Aera sat by the window, her hands wrapped around a warm ceramic cup that smelled faintly of cinnamon and oak. The wine list here was curated, she’d noticed — not flashy, just thoughtful. Like the man walking toward her with soft steps and tired eyes.

Juwon.

He placed a plate of something delicate and unfamiliar on the table. She smiled. He always brought her something new — a bite of the world he carried in his hands.

 "Let me guess," she said, eyeing the garnish.

“Japanese yuzu, French technique, Korean roots?”

Juwon chuckled as he took the seat across from her, brushing a raindrop from his temple.

“You’re impossible.”

 “I’m trained.”

She raised the cup to her lips, the warmth steadying her.

“Sommelier instincts never sleep.”

He grinned, but there was softness in his eyes.

 “You used to drink wine like it was a metaphor.”

 “It still is,” she murmured, setting the cup down.

“Every vintage carries a year someone either lived through or tried to forget.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other — the air between them thick with knowing. Juwon reached for her hand, their fingers brushing like they hadn’t done this a thousand times before.

“You always pause before telling me the hard parts,” he said quietly.

“That’s because you never look away.”

He didn’t.

Outside, a bell rang softly as someone left the café. The world went on. But in their corner, time folded inward.

“You know,” Juwon said, tracing the rim of his glass, “it’s strange sitting across from you and realizing… we made it. You’re working abroad, I’m running a kitchen, and somehow, we both ended up in Paris.”

Aera looked down at their hands, then out the window — the rain now slowing.

“We made it,” she echoed.

“But I still carry places I haven’t left.”

He didn’t speak. He knew she would continue when she was ready.

And she did — not with facts, but with memory. With the kind of voice that breaks gently.

“When I was twenty-one, I left home like someone walking out of fire. I didn’t know where I was going — just that I couldn’t stay.”

She laughed, softly.

“I thought getting into college was the end of the story.”

“But it was just the prologue,” Juwon said, more sure than she could be.

She nodded.

“There was this boy. And a year that changed everything.”

And just like that, the rain returned — soft and steady, like footsteps approaching from long ago.

...🥀...

Juwon leaned back slightly, the soft glow of the pendant light catching the outline of his jaw.

“You don’t talk about him much.”

“That’s because some names aren’t meant to be said out loud. Not right away.”

Aera’s voice wasn’t bitter. Just quiet — like the last note of a long song.

“So say it in your way,” Juwon said.

“I’ll listen. No timeline. No pressure.”

The kindness in his tone made her eyes flicker — gratitude and guilt braided into one glance. She took a slow breath.

“His name was Yoojoon Kim. I was twenty-one. He was only eighteen.”

Juwon didn’t flinch. Just nodded.

She smiled faintly, remembering.

“He looked like trouble. And not in the romantic way — in the way you’re sure he’ll disappear before you learn his last name.”

“But he didn’t?”

Aera paused.

“He did. But only after I memorized every part of him.”

Juwon’s hand shifted closer on the table. Their knuckles brushed.

“What was he like?”

Aera tilted her head slightly, as if she were listening to music only she could hear.

“Stubborn. Guarded. The kind of boy who didn’t understand poetry but still made you feel like a verse. He hated eye contact but looked at me like I was a dare. He was younger."

“And you fell in love with him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Not at first. I didn’t think I could. I was too busy proving I deserved to be there — foreign program, top college, dreams I’d buried under grades and part-time jobs.”

Her voice drifted.

“But he made silence feel like conversation.”

A soft beat of stillness stretched between them.

Outside, the world stayed gray and dreamy. Inside, the café filled with the scent of orange zest and espresso foam. A couple nearby whispered in French. The clink of a spoon echoed, distant.

“Did he break your heart?” Juwon asked.

Aera looked at him with that same gentle, tired honesty that always left him disarmed.

“No. I broke it. By being too late.”

She looked down at her hands.

“There are stories that don’t end with goodbye. Just… silence. Distance. A coward’s gaze.”

Juwon sat quietly, letting the words settle.

“Is this why you always pause before pouring a new wine?”

His voice was soft, like he already knew the answer.

“Maybe.”

She smiled faintly.

“Maybe that’s why I fell in love with pairings — wine and memory. Notes and people. Bitter and sweet.”

Juwon chuckled under his breath.

“And here I was thinking you just liked the drama of it.”

“That too.”

Her eyes glinted for a moment — a flicker of mischief behind all that melancholy.

Then, Juwon took her hand. Firmly this time.

“Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Aera looked at him — this man who held space like no one else ever had. She took one last sip of her drink, then closed her eyes for a breath. When she opened them again, she was no longer 24 in Paris.

She was 21.

In that old classroom, in the middle of a storm she hadn’t yet named.

And she began....

...•••••...

After this chapter we will directly jump into her past storyline directly.

Tell me how did you like this beginning chapter.

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