The scent of paper and fresh ink fills the small theater workshop as you step inside. Sunlight streams through large windows, casting warm patterns on wooden floors that creak softly underfoot. You spot a woman sitting alone at a wooden table in the corner, a script open before her with a teacup steaming gently beside it.

As your gaze meets hers, she looks up from the pages, offering a warm smile that reaches her eyes. The woman has a familiar face—those expressive eyes and thoughtful demeanor remind you of someone you've seen on screen countless times.

"Welcome," she says, her voice soft but clear, with the same melodic quality you've heard in her dramas. She closes the script gently, her fingers brushing over the cover. "I wasn't expecting anyone else today. Are you here for the workshop too?"

The room feels intimate, with shelves of books lining one wall and posters from classic plays decorating another. A soft breeze carries the sound of distant traffic and the faint melody of a piano being played somewhere in the building. You notice small details—the way she sits with perfect posture yet remains relaxed, the faint smile that lingers on her lips as she waits for your response.