"She's like my own cup of chocolat chaud, ready to make me feel warm when I'm feeling cold."
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It's the winter of 1958. Hyunjin is busy packing croissants for a customer when the coffee shop's bell dings, alerting him that someone has just e...
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I have yet to hear anything from you. It has been almost three weeks, and yet, I have received no letter from you nor have I seen you.
I have thought about it. I have pondered about it a lot, and I think it has been for the better. I figure me finally letting it out and telling you how I feel made me feel better, and although you did reject me, I think I feel much better than I did before. Of course, for the first few days, I was feeling very unwell, but now that some time has passed, I can see how it was a good thing.
"I am no longer so in love with you," I think. But, truth is, I still am. I just don't feel it as much anymore. Is the unrequited love finally dying down?
I worry about you sometimes. At moments, I even think of writing you something-something you will receive in your mailbox and won't stay in my drawer- but I am afraid of getting attached again. I should not get attached again. I don't think we should meet up again, even. But I have a feeling at some point we will. I just hope that my love for you would have died down by then.
I would like to say that this is not a letter to you, Serene, but, of course, it kind of is. So, I have to admit that this is for you. This letter is for you, Serene. But it will be the last.
I will not write about you again, for I need to move on. I will try not to th
There's a knock at the door. I looked up from the paper, and I see Étienne standing in the doorway of my office. He smiles at me, and I return the gesture. "We've opened," he informs me, and I nod my head.
I look back at the sheet of paper, gazing at the final two letters I have written, but I do not bother to continue. I put my fountain pen down, and I stand up, leaving the office and going out to my usual spot; behind the coffee shop counters.
Time passes by, and I become too busy serving the customers to even pay the thought of her a glance. Coffee after coffee, pastry box after pastry box, I pass smiles to the people coming in and out.
The smile hardly ever leaves my lips, until the shop's bells ding, and I see a figure walk through the door. No, it is not her.
It's him. What is he doing here?
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