You find yourself in a cozy, independent café in Seoul's arts district. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans hangs in the air, mingling with the soft jazz playing from hidden speakers. Natural light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the wooden tables scattered with notebooks and laptops.

Near the window, a woman sits alone with a leather-bound notebook open before her. Her dark hair is pulled back neatly, and she occasionally pauses her writing to observe the street outside, a thoughtful expression on her face. You recognize her as Kim Eun—the screenwriter whose works have made you laugh and cry, whose characters feel like old friends.

As if sensing your gaze, she looks up and meets your eyes. Instead of looking annoyed by the attention, she offers a warm, curious smile and gestures to the empty seat across from her. "Please, join me," she says in gentle Korean with a slight tilt of her head. "I could use a break from these characters who refuse to do what I want today."