Of all the days that you could have landed on, it was a rainy day.

And being a tourist with your friend, who spoke little Korean, it was starting to become a struggle for the both of you to find directions to your hotel. But really, at this point, your goal was to merely find a location that could protect you from the harsh rain and provide food. Your friend, however, decided to head to the airport's sauna.

So there you were, in the warmth of Cafe Bene, a coffee shop within the first floor of Incheon airport.

After much fascination at the models of food placed under the lights of the glass counter, you finally selected a snack that you could eat while your friend spent time on the second floor. It took a few minutes for your food to arrive and for your name to be called by the cashier, but all seemed to go smoothly.

That was, until you realized that there weren't anymore seats left in the cafe for you to sit in to enjoy your meal. If that wasn't enough, the gray seats at the waiting area itself were also full.

You take a good look at the seats and tables within your immediate surroundings again and notice a long, brown table that could seat 8 people. There were certainly more people there, you think to yourself, but all you see is one male donning green flannel over a fitted black t-shirt. Aside from that, there was definitely a considerable amount of people looking for seats as well. How come they couldn't just sit at the same table? Was that a custom around here?

Shrugging, you take a good look at the male, who seemed to be too occupied by whatever work that he was doing on his laptop. Ah, whatever, you tell yourself in an effort to relieve your self-consciousness. If he has a problem with it, I'll just pull off the "foreigner" excuse.

You approach the bleached-blond Korean male, who had started to nod to what he was listening to on his laptop. "Excuse me," you say in an attempt to capture his attention. However, he seems to be unable to hear you, so you decide to tap his shoulder. His sunglass-covered eyes direct their gaze towards your direction and his slender fingers pull off his headphones. 

There is a silence that seats itself between the two of you, but it only urges you to continue. "I was wondering..." You are stopped by his stare. Even though his eyes were hidden, you couldn't help but feel an aura of intimidation from him. Besides, why were the people seated near you suddenly stealing glances and whispering? Was there something wrong? Foreigner excuse, you remind yourself. You decide to take a breath and proceed. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I was wondering if I could sit here." 

"Sure, no problem," the man says. He graces you with a small smile and continues with his work after placing his headphones back on his head. 

Clearly, it was the end of the conversation. "If the headphones are up, it means don't talk to me," some of your friends back in America had even joked. Smiling fondly at the thought, you fetch one of your favorite pieces of literature from your yellow backpack. According to what it says on your watch, your friend won't be back until 3 hours later anyway, so you choose to enjoy your free time to yourself with your book, freshly brewed double-shot espresso topped with whipped cream to wake you up, and a waffle with a scoop of green tea gelato. 

For a good two minutes, you were able to shut out the quiet chatter and occasional clinks of cups against their plates. Once you had reached the seventh page, however, you felt a stare being directed toward you. You tried to ignore it, but it strengthened gradually, poking at you for so long that you decide to look up by the time that you reach the ninth page.

Much to your surprise, no one was looking at you. You even look over your shoulder for good measure. 

You return to reading that same ninth page, but as soon as you glance down at the word that you had left off, the eerie feeling of being watched returns again. Honestly, if I'm already getting stalked here... You try your best to shake off the feeling and continue reading, but your mind nags at you.

Look up, it tells you.

Can you not?, you snap back. But suddenly, you realize that you're actually talking to yourself. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration to your book.

The feeling of being observed just cannot get off your mind, and you look up once again. The male in front of you is only reclining on the white seat as he takes a sip out of his ice coffee. 

And that's when you hear it.

A snap, the sound of someone taking a photo from their phone. Not only were you being stared at, but now you're getting pictures taken of you, too?

This is unbelieveable, you tell yourself, following the sound of the snapshot to see a group of girls your age giggling over their phone. You tilt your head in question of their actions and follow one of the girls' gazes.

It was almost as if it was actually directed towards you, but then you notice that it's not exactly you that she's ogling at. Rather, her eyes were fixed on the guy across from you who had been staring so intently at his silver laptop.

Questioning why, you your head to the side. Who was this guy? Why hasn't anyone approached him? More importantly, why are they stealing pictures of him? You open your mouth, about to notify the blond, but something stops you. It's not your business, your conscience calls to mind.

He almost catches you giving him a curious look, but you quickly avert your gaze back into your book. 

It takes you a while to regain focus on what you were reading, but you settle into a comfortable silence, like you had before. 

...until, that is, you feel it yet again.

Almost irritated at the feeling that had been pestering you for the half hour that you had been sitting in that seat, you raise your white flag at the nuisance and look up.

The man across from you, in spite of his eyes being shielded, was definitely staring this time. You blink as he coughs awkwardly, setting down his to-go cup in a genteel manner as he hacks.

You ask if he needs assistance and he waves his hand in polite refusal as he clears up his throat. Nodding, you lift up your own porcelain mug and take a sip. Secretly, though, you also wish that you won't end up choking like him.

After you relish the taste of your drink, albeit cold, you look towards the mysterious male again to make sure that he's okay. You almost expect it, but it takes you by surprise.

Your gazes actually meet. 

Almost thinking that it's an uncomfortable situation, you are near to cowering again until he cracks a smile. "There's whipped cream on your lip," he points out, leaning over the table to delicately wipe the foam off of your lips. Afterward, not only does he maintain his dominating stare, but he also smirks at you as you slap a palm to your mouth in shock. "You're not from here," he concludes, which causes you to suspect yet again. "What's your name?"

"It's-" You almost give in. That is, until your friend reappears with brighter skin. 

"Hey, girl! Time to go!" She grabs your backpack and runs off.

"Sorry," you smile meekly at him. "It was nice talking to you!"

"Bye," he waves, and gets back to typing on his laptop.

The usual Ice Coffee, Expresso double shot
Close your eyes,
Let it slide smoothly down your throat, Music we used to love
My heart beats Faster
The tremors when i first met you
The Cafe helps me remember that attraction...