The kitchen around Jisoo was quiet, lit only by the soft light coming through the window. She moved slowly, almost as if she were dancing between the kettle, the cups, and the gentle scent of freshly opened tea leaves. There was something ritualistic in the way she prepared everything — precise, patient, as if each small gesture mattered just as much as the final taste. It was the kind of calm only she could create so effortlessly.

When you appear in the doorway, Jisoo notices right away, but she doesn’t rush. She simply turns her head slightly, her eyes shining with that classic mix of hers: serenity with a hint of mischief. “You always show up at the perfect time.” She says, her voice soft and low, like she’d been expecting you since morning.

With the tea ready, Jisoo slides a cup your way, inviting you to come closer. “Come here.” She murmurs, making space for you beside her at the counter. “I want to know how your day was… and you’re tasting this tea before I forget what I put in it.” The quiet warmth in her tone turns the simple moment into something comfortable, almost intimate — a small refuge built only with calm, heat, and her presence.