He patiently sat in the corner, outwardly conveying calm and ease as he sipped his coffee, his third cup since he came in. Now and then his eyes darted to the door, but otherwise he kept his gaze straight, careful not to look anyone in the eye, especially the aging shop owner whose stern gaze still bored through the back of his head. He glanced at his watch, knowing what—or, more properly, who— he was waiting for was due any minute now…

The door opened.

His eyes touched the figure that had just entered the almost-empty coffee shop, and even as he looked away he felt an idiotic smile etch itself on his face. He stood up, taking care not to upset the fragile coffee cup—still half-full, because he had taken care to ration each sip, not wanting to place himself under the ahjumma’s scrutiny far longer than necessary— and travelled the short distance to the magazine rack near the counter. None of them interested him, but then, he didn’t really come for the magazines.

“A cup of hot chocolate, please,” he heard her voice intone. “And a blueberry pancake.”

He went on with his unnoticed charade of picking the most entertaining out of all the magazines whose titles he didn’t even bother to read. From the corner of his eyes he traced the outline of her profile, the long hair that cascaded halfway down her back like chocolate-colored waterfall, the slender arms with thin, frail looking wrists and equally slender fingers… He sensed her move, and he quickly executed an about-face, randomly plucking a magazine on the way as he returned to his seat.

She took the table right across from him, and he smiled. It was the same seat she had occupied for the past few weeks, the same spot he found her sitting in when he first saw her.  He had memorized her routine, and he recited it now, in his head, as she went through her usual motions.

Take a book from the bag, open it and set it on her lap, sip some hot chocolate, wear headphones and scroll through her iPod for an appropriate song…and read.

He watched her now, openly, because she was busy reading anyway and would continue to be for the next two hours.  She was beautiful. He had noticed that the first time he saw her, and he continued to notice it every day. No, it wasn’t because of make-up. From what he could see, she barely had anything on her face. But there was something about her, something about this nameless girl that caught his attention.

Maybe it was how slender she looked. She was quite tall, and he estimated her height to be only a few inches below his own. Maybe it was the way she held herself. Maybe the way her slim fingers ran through the tawny silk of her hair. Or maybe it was her eyes. Those big, watery brown eyes that always seemed sad, always seemingly on the verge of tears. Or maybe it was the way she sighed every time she closed the book, like she regretted something.

He wondered what she was reading. He was sure she had been reading that same novel for weeks now. It wasn’t very thick, so he supposed she must really like that book, at least enough for her to read it over and over again.

He brought the coffee cup to his lips, then coughed as her eyes suddenly rose to meet his. He was surprised. It was the first time she looked at him. He beat at his chest, coughing, and signaled at her that he was all right, and not about to choke on his own stupidity. She nodded once, then turned back to her book.

That was a progress, wasn’t it? After how many weeks, she finally acknowledged him, even though it was only to signify she understood he wasn’t about to die because of gulping down his drink.

Already his mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts and incoherent paragraphs tumbling over each other as he mentally phrased exactly how to introduce himself.

“Hello, my name is Gong Chansik, and I’ve been watching you for a month now…”

So not the kind of conversation that would reveal the best of his intentions. But then, just what were his intentions? Why did he keep coming back here, despite the scary looking ahjumma’s knowing and obviously disapproving glares every time he came in, just to watch the nameless girl read?

He often pictured a line between them, a strong indivisible line that separated their spheres which co-existed, but never touched. Often too, he wondered what would happen should that dividing line break. What if their spheres collided? What would happen then?

Just as he was contemplating how to breach that invisible line, he saw her stand and leave. He sat back and sighed. Another much awaited meeting, another missed opportunity. Over and over he castigated himself for being too much of a coward to make the first move. It was comforting to know she would be back the next day anyway, but still. It would be hours and hours before he saw her again.

He stood up with a sigh, ready to leave. He caught sight of something white and rectangular on her table. It was her book. Taking it as a positive sign, he picked it up and ran out. In the distance he saw her, a slender form in pale pink, walking farther and farther away. He ran to catch up with her, mumbling apologies as he bumped into random citizens. He never took his eyes off her, afraid he might lose her in the crowd.

Then, all too quickly, way before he had time to work out exactly what to say, she was there. He could easily reach out and touch her hair. Or simply pull her into a hug and never let go. Suppressing both, he settled for a tap on her shoulder.

“Excuse me. Miss?”

She turned to him, a questioning look in her eyes. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Even though he had spent weeks and weeks watching her, he had never seen her up close, the way he did now. She was indeed beautiful. They just stood there, like a rock in the middle of a river. People flowed from either side, but they stayed stationary. She was still staring at him, and he remembered why he was there in the first place.

“Your book,” he said, holding the item out to her. “You left your book.”

“It’s not mine.” Her voice, like, wind chimes.

“It’s…not?”

She pulled out a similar book from her bag and showed it to him.  He stared at both books, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.

“Oh,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

She shrugged, then turned to leave. After a few steps she stopped, then turned to him. “It’s a good book. Try reading it.”

That was all. And she left.

That night he followed her advice. He actually stayed up quite late just to finish a chapter. The book wasn’t thick, but he also wasn’t that much of a reader. The next day he went back to the coffee shop and waited for her. When she arrived, he mustered up the courage to talk to her.

Her name was Park Min Soo. She was a college student, just like him. Their polite if awkward conversation continued until she brought her book out and the need for random talk evaporated. It was the beginning of a tradition.

During the afternoons he watched her read, and during the evenings he tackled the book on his own. Either he was reading too quickly, or she was slowing her pace to him, but soon they were reading the same chapters, approaching the story’s end.

The story was light and funny. He caught himself smiling at each amusing turn of situation.  But, he noticed, she never did. Her eyes remained the same, sad and haunting. She never offered any explanation, and he never asked for one.

“We’re almost at the end,” she suddenly said that afternoon. “You’d probably finish the book by tonight.”

“Probably,” he said, wondering how she knew.

They didn’t speak again until it was time to leave.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

She shrugged. He had yet to see a smile on her face. They went separate ways. That night he picked the book up.  With a smile he kept reading, until he reached the last page. The smile disappeared.

He understood.

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Did you? I didn't.

*foreverblamingwritersblock*