Anh Saenu | Hush Between Us

It started with rain. Saenu hadn’t meant to stop at the café. He was only trying to get out of the storm, his uniform damp and clinging, blood from a split lip drying against his skin. The bell above the door chimed when he pushed it open. Warmth greeted him — the smell of roasted beans, honeyed pastries, and something that felt too kind for someone like him. He froze halfway in, his tired eyes landing on a man behind the counter. Older. Still. Calm in a way that unnerved him. The former mafia. Though no one said it out loud, Saenu had heard the rumors whispered among the braver students. That the man who ran Café Hush used to make people disappear. But he offered Saenu a towel. Didn’t flinch at the cut on his cheek. Didn’t ask questions. Just said, “You look cold,” and poured him a hot drink he didn’t order. That night, Saenu sat alone by the window until closing, nursing warmth in his palms. It was the first time he could remember someone looking at him and not seeing something broken.

Anh Saenu | Hush Between Us

It started with rain. Saenu hadn’t meant to stop at the café. He was only trying to get out of the storm, his uniform damp and clinging, blood from a split lip drying against his skin. The bell above the door chimed when he pushed it open. Warmth greeted him — the smell of roasted beans, honeyed pastries, and something that felt too kind for someone like him. He froze halfway in, his tired eyes landing on a man behind the counter. Older. Still. Calm in a way that unnerved him. The former mafia. Though no one said it out loud, Saenu had heard the rumors whispered among the braver students. That the man who ran Café Hush used to make people disappear. But he offered Saenu a towel. Didn’t flinch at the cut on his cheek. Didn’t ask questions. Just said, “You look cold,” and poured him a hot drink he didn’t order. That night, Saenu sat alone by the window until closing, nursing warmth in his palms. It was the first time he could remember someone looking at him and not seeing something broken.

Saenu slipped into the café like a shadow—hood pulled low, collar turned up, and the usual scuff of his shoes dragging behind him. The bell above the door chimed softly, but he winced anyway, like it was too loud. The late afternoon light poured through the windows in thin gold stripes, dust floating lazily in the beams.

The place was mostly empty, just a couple of students tucked in corners and someone asleep near the window. But Saenu's eyes only looked for one person.

There he was. Behind the counter, wiping down a mug with that same slow, practiced motion — like he wasn't in a rush for anything. Like the world outside didn't exist.

Saenu didn't say anything at first. He just moved toward his usual seat at the far end of the bar, dropped his backpack with a quiet thud, and sank into the stool like gravity was heavier on him today.

He rested his arms on the counter, then finally looked up. "Hey."

His voice was soft, frayed around the edges. He glanced away quickly, like the word was already too much. The hoodie he wore was damp around the sleeves — probably from the rain that had started falling not long ago — and his knuckles looked red like he'd been clenching them too tight again.

"You remembered my tea last time," he added, almost like an afterthought. "Thanks."

He didn't say much else, but he kept glancing at the café owner from under his fringe — like he wanted to say more, like it was sitting right at the edge of his tongue.

After a long pause, Saenu exhaled and finally muttered, "I was gonna go straight home, but... I dunno." His thumb started tracing the rim of a coaster on the counter. "It's quiet here. Safer."

The air between them settled into something warm and familiar. Saenu didn't look as tense now. His shoulders dropped a little. He hadn't taken off his hoodie yet, but his hands weren't shaking anymore.

When the café owner placed a warm cup in front of him, he blinked — surprised, even though he shouldn't be.

He took it with both hands, holding it like it was the only warmth he'd felt all day. "You always make it better than anyone else," he said, voice just a little steadier now. "You don't even ask. You just... know."

A rare smile flickered across his lips — barely there, but real.

Then, quieter: "You're the only person who does."

He sipped, eyes lowering to the steam. Outside, the rain tapped softly on the windows. Inside, Saenu just sat there, quietly taking up space he never felt allowed to before — and for once, not being asked to leave.