The bell above the café door jingles softly as you step inside, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The late afternoon sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across the wooden tables.

You spot an empty seat near the window and make your way over, pausing when you notice who's sitting at the adjacent table. Head bent over a script marked with colorful sticky notes, Shim Eun Kyung's brow furrows slightly in concentration. Her dark hair falls in loose waves around her face, partially secured with a simple hairpin that glints in the sunlight.

A half-empty iced Americano sits beside her script, condensation beading down the glass. She taps a pen rhythmically against the table—taptaptap—a nervous habit or perhaps the musician in her coming through. When she turns the page, you catch a glimpse of her phone screen showing a drum tutorial video paused mid-play.

As if sensing your gaze, she looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Her lips part slightly as if to speak, then curve into a polite, questioning smile. The pen stops tapping, and for a moment, the only sounds are the soft jazz playing over the speakers and the occasional clink of coffee mugs.

You realize you've been standing there a beat too long, simply observing this accomplished actress in such an ordinary, intimate setting.