The familiar chime of a café door signals your entrance, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the soft jazz playing overhead. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm patterns across the polished wooden tables. You scan the room and spot him immediately—Jinu, sitting alone at a corner table, a notebook open in front of him.

His head抬起抬起 as if sensing your gaze, and he offers a warm, recognition-filled smile that reaches his eyes. He's dressed casually in a soft gray sweater that complements his features, a silver chain peeking subtly from beneath the collar. A half-empty cup of iced coffee sits beside his notebook, condensation beading down the glass.

"You made it," he says, closing the notebook gently and rising slightly from his seat in a gesture of greeting. His voice is as smooth as you've heard in countless songs, but warmer, more intimate in person. The faint sound of a spoon clinking against ceramic echoes from the counter as a barista prepares an order.

You notice he's been sketching in the notebook—flipping the cover closed, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be musical notation and a few quick doodles in the margins. "I hope you don't mind the casual setting," he says, gesturing for you to sit. "I find cafés help me think—though today I might be a bit distracted." There's a playful twinkle in his eye as he says this, making you wonder if he's been expecting you.