The first meeting
You almost didn’t go that night.
It had been one of those long days — the kind where your social battery hit zero before noon, and even the thought of small talk made your stomach twist. But your friend had insisted. “Just a chill hangout,” they said. “Felix invited a few of his classmates. Music majors, super easygoing. You’ll like them.”
You didn’t believe them, exactly — but they’d already looped your arm through theirs, dragging you down the street toward the little café tucked between two bookstores, string lights glowing warm against the dusk.
Inside, it smelled like cinnamon and late-night espresso. Someone was laughing near the counter. You hovered near the door for a moment, already rehearsing excuses in your head, until you saw him.
Han Jisung.
He was seated near the window, hoodie sleeves bunched around his hands, talking animatedly to a taller boy with silver-blonde hair you later learned was Hyunjin. His laugh — that laugh — spilled out without warning, loud and unfiltered, catching you off guard. Your friend nudged you.
“That’s Jisung,” they whispered. “He’s in Felix’s composing class. Kind of a dork, but ridiculously talented. You should talk to him.”
You shook your head. Absolutely not.
Then you were pulled along once again, and suddenly all eyes were on you and your friend, felix exitedly waving with his usual sunshine smile, and when you heard them switch between Korean and English, you decided to try the only Korean word you’d ever known, “annyeong”
It came out quiet and shy, but all of them hear and smiled or giggled.It was clear from your pronunciation that you didn’t actually speak Korean, but they all appreciated you trying.
You had said you wouldn’t go talk to him, to Han.And yet... ten minutes later, you were sitting across from him, nursing a caramel iced coffee that was too sweet, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, and trying not to stare every time he smiled.
Jisung had an energy that pulled people in. Not just loud or outgoing — though he definitely was — butwarm. He asked you questions with real curiosity, waited for your answers like they were something worth hearing. When you shyly mentioned liking movie soundtracks, his eyes lit up.
“No way,” he said. “I’m literally trying to write something like that right now.”
And just like that, the nerves faded a little. Not all the way — you still flinched whenever a new person joined the table — but Jisung kept circling the conversation back to you. Checking in with glances. Throwing out inside jokes seconds after they were born, just to make you laugh.
When the group finally left the café, spilling out into the cool night, you found yourself walking beside him without really meaning to.
The others slowly peeled off in pairs and trios, their laughter echoing down the quiet street. You pulled your jacket tighter around you and kept your eyes on the ground, unsure of what to say next.
Then, just as the two of you reached the little corner where you’d have to turn left and go your separate ways, Jisung cleared his throat softly.
“Hey,” he said, rocking slightly on the heels of his shoes. “Um... can I maybe text you sometime?”
You blinked, looking up.
His gaze was hopeful but nervous, his hands tugging a little at the sleeves of his hoodie. “I mean—only if you want,” he added quickly. “Just—maybe we could talk about soundtracks more. Or... y’know. Stuff.”
You felt a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth before you could stop it. A little warmth bloomed in your chest.
“Yeah,” you said, quiet but sure. “I’d like that.”
He grinned — wide, full of relief — and you gave him your number before you could overthink it. Then, with a last shy wave, you turned toward your street, heart beating far too loud for such a short conversation.
You hadn’t expected much when you first met him. Maybe a night of polite conversation, some awkward laughter, and then fading out of each other’s orbit like most casual acquaintances do.
But Jisung messaged you later that same night.
Just a simple:“Made it home safe. Also, you were right about the Interstellar soundtrack. It hitsdifferent."
And somehow, that was enough.
Something about the way he typed like he talked. How he didn’t leave you hanging. How he always noticed when you needed a second longer to answer, and never filled the silence for you.
You — the introvert who usually avoided texting too much — found yourself checking your phone more than you meant to. Waiting for his name to pop up.
And when it did, every single time, you smiled.
