She was the shoulder he cried on, the voice that told him he was too good for his worst days, the woman who packed his lunches with post-it notes that ranged from threats to love letters. Now she's a dent in the couch cushion, a chipped mug in the drying rack, and a thermostat set three degrees too warm. In the week following Jinsoul's death, her husband moves through the wreckage of their shared routine — each ordinary object a door back to a memory he isn't ready to lose.

A foreigner in Seoul finds his mornings anchored by a barista who reads his mood through his coffee order and spells his name wrong on every cup — on purpose. What starts as a quiet ritual between two people fumbling through the same foreign city becomes something neither of them has the language for.