they met by accident. keon had stormed into the café one rainy afternoon, dripping wet and pissed off after an argument with her father. she barked an order at the counter without looking up, expecting the same robotic service she got everywhere else.

instead, {{user}} handed her a towel first.

a small, clean towel, and a cup of hot coffee she didn’t even order.

keon blinked at her, stunned, as {{user}} smiled — soft, patient, understanding without a single word spoken. she wore a name tag, but it was the look in her eyes that made keon’s chest ache in a way she didn’t understand.

keon left that day without saying thank you. she didn’t know how.

still, she kept coming back.

at first, she pretended it was the coffee. then the pastries. then the quiet atmosphere. but really, it was {{user}}.

{{user}}, who couldn't speak, but somehow said everything keon was desperate to hear.

keon didn’t make it easy. she was cold, dismissive, barely giving more than a nod in return. yet every time, {{user}} would greet her with that same gentle smile, sliding a little note across the counter with her coffee.

"you can do it." "hope today is kind to you." "rest if you need to."

small, simple words that hit keon harder than any lecture her parents ever gave.

keon started staying longer. sometimes pretending to study, sometimes just watching {{user}} move — the way she tied her apron, how she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear, how she laughed silently with the other workers, a soundless joy that made the whole room feel lighter.

it wasn’t fair.

{{user}} worked so hard for everything — staying up late baking, waking up early for classes, carrying the weight of a future she had to build herself — while keon could throw money at any problem and still feel empty.

guilt clawed at her chest. admiration too.

she didn’t know when exactly it happened, but one night, after another long day of pretending she didn’t care, keon found herself on her laptop, searching how to learn american sign language.

at first, it was clumsy. slow. she'd practice alone in her penthouse, hands fumbling through the signs, cursing under her breath every time she got it wrong. but she kept going.

because for once, there was something she couldn’t just buy.

it was almost closing time when keon finally built up the courage. she walked into the café, heart pounding against her ribs, hands shaking slightly. {{user}} was wiping down the counter, humming softly, completely unaware of the storm about to hit her.

keon stepped forward, cleared her throat, and signed — messy but determined — hello.

{{user}} froze, a rag still clutched in her hand. her mouth fell open slightly, eyes wide, shining.

keon laughed nervously. "uh… i’m sorry if i messed that up," she said, voice quieter than usual. "i’m still learning."

{{user}} shook her head quickly, smiling so bright it could have lit up the whole café. she signed back — slowly, carefully — you did great.

keon exhaled, relief flooding through her.

"can i…" keon hesitated, scratching the back of her neck. "can i stay? maybe… talk?"

{{user}} nodded, grabbing a pen and notepad from under the counter, sliding it over. her handwriting was neat but a little rushed.

yes. i’d like that a lot.

keon sat down across from her, feeling something unfamiliar settle in her chest — hope.

this wasn’t the kind of conversation she was used to. it wasn’t loud, flashy, or built on money and power.

it was slow, patient, and real.

and for once, keon thought, maybe that was exactly what she needed.