Chapter 1 — The First Glance

Taehyung’s POV

The rain had been falling since dawn.

Not a heavy storm — just a quiet drizzle that painted the city in slow-moving silver.

I stood outside the little café two blocks from my apartment, cappuccino warming my frozen fingers, sketchbook resting under my arm. My hair was damp, sticking to my forehead, but I didn’t mind. Rain makes people slower… softer. It’s easier to notice details then — the reflections in the puddles, the way strangers hunch into their coats as if shadows could keep them dry.

I was mid-sip when he appeared.

Black hoodie pulled low over his head. Hands deep in his pockets. Earbuds in. His gaze was down, like he was counting the cracks on the pavement.

Something about him didn’t fit with the noise around us. He felt… quieter than the rain itself.

He stopped in front of the café, hesitating like maybe stepping inside was a big decision. Then he looked up.

And for a moment… our eyes met.

Dark. Honest. A little guarded. Yet somehow—warm.

It lasted only two seconds.

Then he looked away and pushed open the door.

________

Inside smelled like roasted coffee beans and cinnamon. Soft music floated around — something acoustic, gentle. I took my usual corner by the window, flipping open my sketchbook, though my pencil just hovered above the page.

He was at the counter now, placing an order in a voice so soft I had to strain to hear. An iced americano. No sugar. No milk. Simple. Like him.

While he waited, his fingers drummed an uneven rhythm against his thigh, like he had music in his head no one else could hear.

The barista called out, “Iced americano!”

He took it with a quiet “Thank you” and turned toward the door. But for just a moment—he glanced my way again. Not a full smile, but the faintest tug at one corner of his mouth.

I don’t know why, but it felt… personal.

Before my brain could overthink it, the words jumped out:

“Hey—”

He froze, looking at me with a mix of caution and curiosity.

“You can… um, sit here,” I said, gesturing at the empty chair across from me. “It’s warmer than outside.”

His eyes softened just slightly, but his shoulders stayed tense.

“…I’m fine. Thanks,” he murmured.

I nodded, trying to play it cool. “Sure. Just thought I’d ask.”

He dipped his head in a polite bow — the kind people give when they’re not sure if they’ll ever see you again. And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling in his wake.

____________

That night, my hand moved across my sketchbook almost without thinking. Lines became shapes; shapes became him — hoodie, tilted head, eyes that never quite looked at me.

I stared at the page for longer than I’d ever admit. Somewhere between the cappuccino and the rain, a stranger had taken a seat in my thoughts… and wasn’t leaving.

The next morning, I walked into the same café — and there he was. Same hoodie. Same careful eyes. But this time… it felt like he wanted to speak....

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