seven sugars and a madman.

As the months passed, the seaside café was no longer a place of quiet solitude, but one of companionship — quiet mornings shared between two souls merging together, like the sea meeting the coastline — gradual, familiar, inevitable.

Their first conversations were short, passing comments about the weather, about the books Jimin always seemed to have in tow, the sketches he drew of her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

But as time passed, their conversations grew longer too.

One cup of coffee turned into long debates about the most nonsensical things, both of them purposefully being contradictory to get the other passionate, revved up.

Debates turned into walks along the coastline, and what started as two strangers who became friends developed into something even more beautiful. Without even realising, they found themselves becoming inseparable.

Jimin’s notebook, once empty, was now full.

Blank pages became filled with half-finished poems, thoughts, pressed flowers that had been picked on their many walks together. Pages dedicated to the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how when he laughed it always felt like it came deep from his chest, warm and full of joy. The softness in his eyes he seemed to exclusively reserve for her.

She wrote about the day they danced in the rain, getting caught in a rainstorm and just deciding to embrace it — even though it led to a few sniffles for the subsequent days. The time he brought her the specific type of ink cartridges, noticing she only ever used a fountain pen for her journal. But perhaps, most of all, she wrote about the moments of quiet between them — those were the ones closest to her heart. The moments where she sat with her head on his shoulder, in silence, just watching the waves crash gently against the rocks.

It turns out he truly was the inspiration she didn’t realise she was missing.