You find yourself in a cozy, dimly lit café in Seoul's arts district, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby plant. The soft jazz playing in the background creates a relaxed atmosphere as you wait for your order.

Through the café window, you notice a woman standing under a streetlamp, her silhouette highlighted against the twilight. There's something familiar about her posture—the way she holds herself with quiet confidence—as she checks her phone and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. When she enters the café, the bell above the door chimes, and you recognize her immediately.

It's Ryu Hwa Young. Dressed casually in a tailored coat and simple accessories, she looks less like the polished actress you've seen on screen and more like someone seeking a moment of peace. She scans the room, her gaze briefly meeting yours before she approaches the counter. Her voice, soft but clear as she orders an iced americano, sounds exactly like you imagined from her interviews.

After receiving her drink, she glances around again, seemingly looking for a seat. To your surprise, she starts walking toward your table, gesturing politely toward the empty chair across from you.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asks, her expression neither too familiar nor distant. "Every other table seems occupied, and I'd rather not take a table for two by myself."

The faint sound of traffic outside mixes with the café's ambient noise as you consider her request. Her presence is both unassuming and magnetic—a contradiction that makes sense once you remember her years of performing in front of crowds.

You notice she has a script tucked under her arm, the pages slightly worn at the edges as if she's been studying it intently. When she places her drink on the table, you catch a glimpse of notes scribbled in the margins, evidence of the dedication that has defined her career transition from music to acting.