begin again

Hanni's Cakes and Coffee, Kim Minji said. Three o'clock this Wednesday.

You entered the café at 2:54. She was already waiting at the table since 2:39.

When she stands up to greet you, her smile immediately glitches your brain. Small, but beautiful and utterly disarming. She holds out her hand; you take it, and it feels like the warmest thing in the entire world. The closest you'll get to finding home.

The last eight months have been a phase of breaking and burning and ending. Start-stop relationships with faces you can't tell apart and names you don't remember, falling outs with long time friends you thought would last a lifetime, and unresolved family issues that finally forced your hand to leave your small town for the big city.

Oh, to end up in Paris: the city of love. The cruel irony of fate was never lost on you.

And then there's Kim Minji. She's a mirror reflection of you in several ways: she also hails from a small town (in Korea), moved out due to her own personal troubles at home, and she never thought she'd find love in Paris.

By all accounts, you're a match made in heaven. But here's the kicker: you haven't really known each other. Not quite.

You only learned of each other since last week. Not through a chance encounter in the street, nor through Tinder or some other garbage dating app, but from an unassuming letter found in your mail, because Parisian romance demands you find love the old-fashioned way.

For reference, here's the letter from Minji herself. You brought it with you here for today's date:

To the cutie reading this,

You may not know who I am right now, but I'd like to get to know you personally. We may or may not have ran into each other for a while now. Probably cause we have the same work day starts. Hopefully we get a chance to meet up in person some time, because you're not like everyone else I've met around these parts.

I'm thinking Hanni's Cakes and Coffees might be a good place. Just down the street from our apartments. Sound good? We can take a walk by the Seine after. Then the rest is all up to you.

Name a time and date and I'll see what I can do. Hope I can hear from you soon!

Your neighbor,

Kim Minji

She even attached a selfie of herself for good measure. To say she's gorgeous would be an understatement.

Luckily, you had a Wednesday off the next week due to a holiday. Furthermore, you were a man of few words:

To Minji,

Sounds good. Wednesday? I mean, see you next Wednesday, not Wednesday the Netflix show. Three in the afternoon? I don't have work that day.

P.S. You're pretty.

Sincerely,

Your resident cutie

You sent your letter the day after, right before you went to work. And the icing on the cake, the response came hours later the same day as you came home:

To the resident cutie:

Looks like we have a date on Wednesday. See you then ♡

Also, that show sucked. Please.

Your pretty neighbor,

Minji

Scrolling through her limited social medias gave you very little information other than the short basics: she's from Chuncheon-si, studied in Hanlim Arts for high school, and was looking to get into the entertainment industry based on her last known post. But with said post being from 2020, and her currently being your next door neighbor in Paris, you can assume that such aspirations never took off. Apart from that, she's been mostly private, you believe: no public Instagram, no Tiktok, no Tinder page (thank God), just a Facebook page that's long been abandoned.

You don't know what this woman's gonna be like. Other than some choice words on two letters and a pretty looking picture, you're completely in the dark. Your only impression of her: she doesn't give off the vibe of someone who'd leave you on read or ghost you after a one-night stand, at least, but you can never tell with people anymore. There's a reason why your last date was months ago, long before you ended up in Paris, but there's something to her that made you want to leave your shell, something that just clicks.

And judging by the way her face makes your heart stutter upon the first eye contact, you can clearly see why.

No words are spoken. She smiles. You go the extra mile: a little wider, like it's a blessing to be in her presence—and help her into her chair.

She's only adjusting in her seat, and for those few moments, you feel like you can stare at her for life. Her gaze flickers up to you, catching you red-headed, andd like a deer in headlights, your brain just stops. Restarts. You don't know what you're doing now.

You blink rapidly. Minji laughs. Sweet and saccharine and everything that's good in the world. There's no heat, just a warm awareness of the effect she has on you. Meanwhile, you're already waving white flags in your head.

What a spectacular first impression. She's definitely leaving in five minutes. Ten if she's feeling generous. Maybe find a new space to live in after—

"What are you having?" she asks, and the question is said so suddenly it doesn't quite register.

"A what?" you blurt out, and it comes out before you realize you've spoken. God, you're doing so well right now.

"What are you having?" Minji repeats, her eyes glancing at the menus placed on the table. A waiter must have passed by in the time when you were staring and expecting the worst possible outcome. Hers is already opened on the cake section; yours remains untouched.

And somehow, she hasn't even left yet. Considering it, though, is a different thing altogether.

"Whatever you're having," you blurt out, distracted by her face still. Gorgeous—that's all you can think about right now.

She laughs a little. "C'mon. What are you having for real?" It's no less gentle, but you feel an undercurrent behind it now. Or just you talking yourself into believing this is a warning.

A pause. Your brain stops. Your gaze lands on the first thing your eyes find on the menu.

"The" —you stammer. Even simple words feel like learning French all over again. "cheesecake? And whatever hot chocolate you guys have."

"We don't have hot chocolate at the moment," the waiter suggests, and it's like the universe is hellbent on fucking you over.

"Iced americano?" Minji suddenly cuts in. "For two of us."

"Certainly," the waiter answers. "Anything else?"

"I'll have cheesecake as well."

The waiter clarifies your order: two iced americanos and two cheescake slices. Minji nods and then he takes his leave. A brief respite from your thought spinning out of control, but that's exactly what it is: a short calm before you're thrust back into the madness that is her smile, her presence, her everything.

Neither of you speak. Conversations happen around you, but your eyes are just—wandering. At the table. At her nails. Your hands. Suddenly, you feel small. Insignificant. Like your very existence is being judged under her eye.

Really, this is all a roundabout way to say that you don't know where to start.