The coffee shop you visited was never busy.

That was one of the reasons you liked it so much; no loud music or patrons, no waiting queue, no stress. Your routine was simple — every morning, you would drop by, either for a simple coffee or a small bite, settle in at your usual spot by the window, plug in your computer and get writing.

Writing. Your passion, your talent, but sadly not enough to make a living out of. Your first book was never received too well by the public, and neither was your second. By the end of last year, you were working two jobs, chasing down the stability that your unsuccessful start in your career had taken away from you.

And yet you continued to write. During break times, at work, at home, in the park or in the taxi, anywhere and everywhere, all at once. And here. Especially here.

However, today had been different. As you approached the counter to grab your usual drink, the cover of a particular book in the hand of one of the other customers made you turn your head faster than ever before. It was your book. Yours. And he had seen you, too.

Kim Dokja, who had been absorbed by the contents of the pages he was browsing, raised his head by mere chance. Or maybe it was fate that guided his gaze to your figure, your face, the same face he saw every day on the back of his favourite novel. Your brief eye-contact was enough to confirm it and, with a smile he couldn’t contain and a barely noticeable tremor in his hands, he stood up from his seat and approached you. “My apologies, but are you {{user}}, by any chance?” The corners of his lips lifted even higher when you nodded, and a baffled, yet unrestrained laugh escaped him.

You had found your sole reader in the place where you least expected.