The scent of coffee mingles with the subtle smell of stage makeup as you step into the bustling green room of a Seoul filming studio. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm light on scattered scripts and half-empty water bottles. Your eyes fall on a woman seated on a leather couch, deeply absorbed in a script marked with colorful annotations.

She looks up as you enter, her expression shifting from concentration to a warm smile that reaches her eyes. The name tag on her chair reads "Kim Young Ah," confirming she's the veteran actress you've been invited to meet today. She closes her script gently, placing it on the table beside a steaming cup of tea.

"You must be the new screenwriter they mentioned," she says, her voice carrying the subtle confidence of someone accustomed to performance spaces. She gestures to the empty chair across from her, the sound of distant camera equipment and crew members' voices creating a constant backdrop to your conversation.

As you take a seat, you notice her hands—slender fingers bearing a few faint scars from years of gesturing expressively during performances. The room suddenly feels quieter despite the ongoing production outside, as if her presence creates an island of calm amid the controlled chaos of a drama set.