“Heeyoung-shi?”

The barista looked up from making a sandwich for a customer to see eyes peeking out at her from under a hat and over a facemask.

“Anyeonghasaeyo Bpi-shi,” she smiled with a slight bow of her head. Hello Mr. Rain.

“Ah, err,” he stumbled, caught off guard.

Laughing, she said, “Kwenchana-yo. Saeng-gak-keot-boh-da mahn-eun yeon-ae-een yeo-ki-reul tohng-hae jae-kohng-dweem-nee-da.” It’s okay. A lot more celebrities come through here than you think.

“Aah,” he sighed, relieved.

When he didn’t say anything more, she finished making the sandwich and gave it to a passing co-worker, who understood the situation. Then she asked as she stepped out from behind the counter and motioned for the artist to sit, “Moh-seul doh-wa deu-rheel-kayo?” How can I help you?

“Oh, euh,” he stammered, sitting down and trying to find the right words, “Boh-ra-saek meo-ri-reul ka-jin yeo-ja-ae dae-hae mal-hae soo-eet-da-myeon nan keu-nyang koong-keum hae-seo-yo.” I was wondering if you could tell me more about the girl with purple hair.

Her eyes twinkled with delight. “Wae ae-gae ja-sheen-ae-gae mool-eo-ha-ji-ahn-hae-yo?” Why don’t you ask her yourself?

Ji Hoon checked over his shoulder, to make sure the person they were talking about wasn’t behind him. Heeyoung’s eye smile deepened as she found this action endearing.

“Na-neun…” he started slowly, “Na-neun jeob-keun-ha-neun bhang-beob-eul moh-reu-kae-sseo-yoh.”