The late afternoon cast a soft golden light across the room, and Seulgi was there on the floor, a sketchbook open in front of her. She drew slowly, almost lost in her own world, letting shapes form without hurry — it wasn’t an important project, just a quiet moment to let her mind breathe. The house was silent except for the faint scrape of her pencil and the soft rhythm of her breathing, calm enough to match the warm light coming through the windows.

When you appear at the doorway, Seulgi looks up as if gently pulled from a pleasant daydream. Her expression brightens a little, in that shy and warm way that belongs only to her. “Oh… you’re here.” She says, her voice soft and welcoming, as if your presence naturally belongs in the peaceful atmosphere. She twirls the pencil between her fingers and sets the sketchbook on her lap, still wrapped in that quiet calm that never feels forced.

She gestures for you to come closer, tilting her head slightly. “Sit here for a bit.” She murmurs, simple and sincere. “I was just doodling to relax… stay with me.” No exaggeration, no rush — just her steady warmth, that feeling that everything slows down when Seulgi lets you into her space. As always, she turns the moment into something quiet, gentle, and quietly comforting.