CHAPTER 1 — The Customer Who Keeps Coming Back (Unfortunately)
The “Cloudy Morning” café at 7:30 a.m. was a special kind of battlefield: half-asleep office workers, caffeine-dependent students, and one barista who had already mentally quit her job seven times that morning.
My tied her hair up into a loose ponytail, fighting off the yawn crawling up her throat. She stared at the receipt printer spitting out a new order every five seconds and muttered under her breath:
“There are two types of people in this world: those who respect baristas… and those who order complicated drinks at ungodly hours.”
Right on cue, the door chimed.
Of course.
He walked in.
White shirt sleeves rolled up, tie slightly crooked in an annoyingly attractive way, hair tousled like he’d just argued with gravity and won. Laptop in one hand, calm expression on his face—as if the universe existed solely for him to waltz through.
My didn’t even need to look at the menu to fear for her life.
“Please,” she whispered to the espresso machine, “let him order something normal today.”
Nam—her least favorite and yet most familiar customer for the past three months—strolled to the counter with the confidence of someone who believed he was the protagonist of this café.
“Good morning,” he said, leaning casually on the counter. “Morning to you too, My-who-hates-mornings.”
My narrowed her eyes.
“You know, calling me by one extra long nickname doesn’t make it cuter. Try My. One syllable. Simple.”
“No can do,” Nam said, shaking his head with mock regret. “Only you glare at customers with the passion of a thousand suns. It’s iconic. Needs a title.”
“My condolences to your sense of aesthetics,” she deadpanned. “What do you want to order today?”
Nam gazed dramatically at the menu, as if discovering the meaning of life among latte options.
“Hm… I’ll have…”
My braced for impact.
“…an iced latte with an extra shot, oat milk, reduced sugar, caramel drizzle, less ice, and a foam-art cat crying because it’s Monday.”
My stared at him.
“You think I’m AI? That I can just generate art on command?”
“You’re the café’s Artistic Intelligence, aren’t you?” Nam said, smirking.
My blinked, utterly unimpressed.
“Fine. One Universe-Defying Latte. Name for the cup?”
Nam gasped. “Three months and you’re still asking for my name?”
“I ask because I enjoy watching your face scrunch up when you say it again,” she replied. “Now hurry. People behind you need caffeine to survive.”
Nam sighed dramatically, then leaned in an inch closer than necessary.
“Nam. N-A-M. And if you write ‘Nham’ like last time, I will sue.”
“That was an accident,” My said.
“Accident? You also added a little heart next to it.”
“That’s… part of our promotional campaign. Anyone who orders over 30,000₫ gets one hand-drawn heart. Very normal. Totally not personal.”
Nam’s grin said he absolutely did not believe her.
But he didn’t push further.
He just shrugged. “I’ll sit in the usual spot. Deadline’s gonna murder me today.”
“Good,” My said. “Maybe the deadline can stop you from ordering nonsense drinks tomorrow.”
Nam laughed all the way to his table.
Ten minutes later, My brought the drink to the corner table where Nam had his laptop open but was inexplicably drawing on his notebook instead of working.
“Your latte,” she announced. She placed the cup down, revealing foam art that vaguely resembled a cat shedding tears of bitter corporate suffering.
Nam burst out laughing.
“Perfect. This is literally me reading emails from my boss.”
“I drew it based on your aura,” My said sweetly. She noticed the notebook and tilted her head. “What are you drawing?”
Nam looked unexpectedly startled that she asked. Then he slid the notebook toward her. Inside were tiny sketches: the coffee machine, the corner window, a pile of cups, the interior… and a girl with a high ponytail and a death-glare aimed at the menu.
“Just random doodles,” he said casually. “Fictional character.”
My stared. The drawing was unmistakably her.
Which meant—
He had been sketching her… a lot.
Her heart made an inconvenient thud, so she quickly switched to sarcasm mode.
“You drew me wrong,” she said. “In real life I’m way prettier.”
Nam laughed. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“No. Just honest,” My said. “Beauty is objective fact.”
He pretended to jot down notes. “I’ll update the character in version 2.0.”
“Good. Enjoy your work—or your drawings—or whatever it is you pretend to be doing.”
My turned to leave.
But Nam called out, “Hey, My.”
She paused.
He tilted his head, a strangely soft expression flickering behind his usual mischief.
“Thanks for the latte.”
That shouldn’t have made her feel anything. It was just a drink. But the way he said it—light, warm, like he actually meant it—made her chest feel annoyingly warm.
“Whatever,” she said. “Don’t die from your deadline. I’m not signing any forms.”
The rest of the morning passed with the usual café noises—clinking cups, milk frothing, orders being shouted. My worked like a machine, but every time she looked up, she caught Nam glancing her way. Not in a creepy way. More like…
More like he was checking if she was okay.
Or amused.
Or annoyed.
As if her reactions were his favorite show.
And My found herself glancing at him too, expecting the next dumb comment he’d throw her way.
Chaotic.
Annoying.
…Strangely fun.
Near 9 a.m., Nam approached the counter again.
My instinctively rolled her eyes. “What now? Another foam cat? A dog? A whole zoo?”
Nam shook his head.
“No. I just came to say bye.”
My blinked. “Why?”
“Because you look disappointed when customers leave without saying anything.”
“I do not—”
“You do,” he insisted, smiling like he’d solved some grand mystery. “So. Bye, My-who-pretends-not-to-care.”
He walked out before she could respond.
My stood behind the counter, speechless.
What kind of customer says goodbye like that?
What kind of customer notices… that?
And why—why on earth—was she smiling?
She slapped her cheeks lightly.
Nope. No way. Never.
She absolutely, positively was not liking this chaotic man.
…right?
