🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 3
The café was quiet, which meant every word of their conversation carried clearly.
“No, I don’t know him. I just saw someone trip and fall badly on the street a few days ago. He looked a lot like you.”
“What? You even remember the face of some random person who fell?”
“Well, he practically flew. Hard to forget something like that.”
So he did recognize her—yet he was pretending not to, probably because his girlfriend was sitting right there.
Ha-joo wasn’t eager to stir up trouble, so she simply went about preparing their drinks in silence.
“Wow, that person must’ve been mortified,”
the girlfriend exclaimed, utterly unfiltered.
Ha-joo pressed her lips together, growing oddly serious as she worked.
‘I really should return that umbrella.’
The umbrella had been expensive, and she wasn’t the kind of person who could, in good conscience, keep something that didn’t belong to her. Best to carry it back and forth to work for the time being. If this café was within his usual range, chances were high he’d show up again soon.
She hadn’t thought much about his finances—he looked good in practically anything, even casual sweats, so she assumed nothing deeper. Still, a poor but kind car-poor student’s umbrella wasn’t something she could just pocket.
‘And I really don’t want to get entangled further.’
The guy screamed trouble. His love life looked messy, and given his reckless spending on cars, his financial sense was likely nonexistent. She had a strong hunch that associating with him, even casually, would only tangle her already chaotic life further.
Ha-joo placed the finished drinks on the counter and rang the bell.
The man stood, picked up the buzzer, and walked over.
She quickly stepped aside, pretending to busy herself, afraid he might say something.
The buzzer clattered back onto the counter.
When she turned back, he was still there—watching her directly.
His black eyes locked with hers.
“Thanks. I’ll enjoy it.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Smirk.
He curved his mouth into a lazy grin, gave her a nod, and turned away with the tray in hand.
Ha-joo scrambled to slot the buzzing device back into its stand, her palms suddenly damp. Maybe the heater was too high? She turned the thermostat down and returned to the sink.
How could someone be so brazen?
With the café nearly empty, she found herself sneaking glances far too often at the only occupied table.
The so-called car-poor sat across from his girlfriend, playing a mobile game for over an hour straight. He barely acknowledged her, offering short replies at best, otherwise glued to his screen.
She had thought him the type to smile easily, but seated there, he wore a flat, cold expression. Without that smile, his features seemed even sharper, his presence darker—like a shadowed alley beside blinding summer sunlight.
Still, whether warm or cold, he didn’t seem built for winter at all.
His girlfriend had tried several times to engage him, but each time his indifferent responses cut the conversation short. Eventually she gave up.
Even his iced Americano was abandoned—melted ice leaving only watery brown liquid in the glass.
‘Does he coast through life just on his looks?’
He really was handsome. Even slouched, eyes on his phone, his side profile was flawless. Tall, long-legged, broad-shouldered—he could’ve been a model or an actor.
‘What does he even do, anyway? Some no-name entertainer? Surely not just another student living out of his car…’
Or worse—a host club worker?
She shook the thought off and returned to cleaning. The café was nearly closing anyway.
As she tied up a garbage bag, his voice drifted low across the quiet room.
“Kim Soo-hee.”
So that was the girlfriend’s name. Funny—she learned the girlfriend’s name before his.
“Mm?”
“Do you really want to keep dating me like this?”
“Why are you saying that all of a sudden?”
He let out a crooked, humorless smile.
“Not sudden. You said if I did everything you asked before the semester started, you’d break up clean. I did it all. And here we are.”
“You’re really bringing this up while gaming?”
“When else would I?”
His tone was flat, eyes still fixed on his phone.
Then, at last, he looked up.
“The café’s about to close. Let’s step outside to talk. Or tomorrow—it’s freezing tonight. Either way, I’ll wait outside.”
The girlfriend scrambled to her feet and fled, the bell chiming as the door closed behind her.
Thud.
He tossed his phone onto the table and leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. His sharp eyes looked tired, worn down.
Then, slowly, his gaze drifted toward Ha-joo.
She turned away at once.
‘Why isn’t he going after her?’
Uncomfortable being left alone with him, Ha-joo grabbed the trash bag and hurried outside.
But before she could push the door open with her shoulder, the weight suddenly lifted. The door swung wide with a ding, letting in a rush of winter air.
She looked up. He was there, holding the door.
Up close, he seemed even taller—towering over her to the point she had to tilt her head sharply back to meet his eyes.
Something in his expression softened when their gazes met.
“You work here?”
“Yes.”
“Better fit than insurance fraud.”
“It wasn’t insurance fraud!”
He smirked.
Unbelievable. His girlfriend was outside, probably freezing, and here he was making small talk with another woman.
Then his eyes flicked to the heavy trash bags in her hands.
“Your arms are about to fall off.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant hers—or his, holding the door. Either way, she muttered a polite thanks and slipped past him.
“Hic, hic…”
Around the corner, under the cold glow of the streetlight, his girlfriend stood crying.
Her face and fingertips were red with cold, her breath coming in white puffs. Mascara streaked down her cheeks.
Ha-joo averted her gaze and walked past toward the garbage bins. No doubt the girl had left the café to avoid showing weakness. Ha-joo would just throw the trash away and give her space.
She tossed the bag in and turned back—only to hear voices from the alley entrance.
“Do we really have to break up? I tried so hard…”
“Stop crying.”
His voice was low, firm.
Her tears kept spilling, though she forced out trembling words.
“Fine. I can’t do this anymore either. Let’s break up. I’m sick of these dates that don’t even feel like dates.”
Ha-joo froze. The only exit was through the narrow alley where the two of them stood. The garbage bins blocked the other side.
She was trapped—forced into the role of unwilling spectator to a messy breakup.
