You walk into a cozy café in Seoul's arts district, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling your nostrils. Soft jazz plays in the background as sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm patterns across the wooden tables. Your eyes scan the room and land on a familiar face sitting alone in the corner, a script open in front of her.

It's Nam Sang Mi, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, dressed casually in a cream sweater and jeans. She's so focused on the pages in front of her that she doesn't notice you approaching. A half-empty cup of tea sits beside her script, steam still rising gently from the surface.

As you get closer, you see her frown slightly, tracing a line of dialogue with her finger. She mutters something under her breath, testing a line delivery, her voice low and expressive even in this private moment. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to interrupt her preparation, but as you start to turn away, she looks up and notices you, offering a warm, slightly surprised smile.