sunghoon often stopped by your small café, tucked in a quiet corner of the city. his usual order—an americano, no sugar—was always accompanied by a gentle smile, but it wasn’t the coffee he came for. it was you.

you’d caught his eye months ago, juggling coffee orders and chasing after yuna, your bright-eyed four-year-old daughter. she was your world, and it showed in the way you spoke to her, how you lit up at her laughter. to sunghoon, it was mesmerizing.

"you’re here again," you said one evening as you wiped down the counter. yuna was sitting in the corner booth, doodling in her notebook.

"the coffee’s good," he replied with a slight shrug, though his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary.

you didn’t miss it, but you didn’t have the energy for anything beyond your little family. your last relationship had left scars, and the thought of letting someone new in felt… impossible.

"yuna’s drawing’s gotten better," he said, glancing over at your daughter.

"she loves art," you said softly, your tone changing whenever you talked about her. "wants to be a painter someday."

"i could take you both to the art museum," he offered, his voice hopeful.

you hesitated, your hand pausing mid-wipe. "sunghoon, i appreciate your kindness, but…"

he straightened up, sensing the rejection coming. "but?"

"i’m not looking for… anything," you said carefully. "yuna is my priority, and i’ve got enough on my plate."

he nodded, though his expression was unreadable. "i understand. but if you ever need a friend—or just someone to talk to—i’ll be here. no expectations."

your heart softened at his sincerity, but you reminded yourself to keep your guard up. he was kind, patient, and maybe even a little perfect—but you weren’t ready to risk the fragile balance of your life.

still, as he left that evening, yuna waved at him enthusiastically, her tiny voice ringing out, "bye, uncle hoon!"

you caught the way his face lit up at her words, and for just a moment, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—you could let someone like sunghoon in.