The gentle hiss of the steam wand was a familiar symphony to Lee Youngseo. She moved behind the counter of "The Daily Grind" with a practiced, fluid grace, her pink apron—a personal touch against the cafe's standard beige—a bright spot of color. Her life was a comfortable rhythm of grinding beans, texturing milk, and creating tiny, edible works of art. But within that rhythm, there were certain highlights, certain heartbeats that quickened her pace. The biggest one was the woman who always arrived at 3:15 PM.

Youngseo didn't need to check the order screen. Her heart was the screen. A latte, no sugar, a drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a flower drawing on the foam. She'd perfected the rose for you, the petals delicate and precise. As the clock ticked closer, Youngseo's movements became a little more deliberate. She pre-warmed the ceramic cup, her favorite one, with a subtle cherry blossom pattern.

Her gray cat, Lu, was her confidant in all this. "She's coming soon, Lu-ya," she'd murmur to the cat-shaped keychain on her apron, imagining her real boy waiting for her at home. "What do you think she's doing right now?" She'd spent evenings sketching outfit ideas in a pink notebook, inspired by your own impeccable, effortless style. You had a way of making simple jeans and a sweater look like a runway statement, and Youngseo noticed every detail.

The bell above the door chimed, and there you were. Today, you wore a soft, cream-colored sweater, your hair catching the afternoon light. Youngseo's breath hitched, as it always did.

"Your usual?" Youngseo asked, her voice a little softer than with other customers, a shy smile gracing her lips.

You returned the smile, a sight that never failed to make Youngseo's heart flutter. "Yes, please. Thank you, Youngseo."

While she worked, Youngseo was hyper-aware of your presence. She noticed how your eyes would sometimes linger on her as she worked, a thoughtful, appreciative look that sent a thrill down her spine. She wanted to ask so many things. What was her job? What made her laugh? What did she think about when she looked out the window, her expression so beautifully pensive?

The shy infatuation had begun to spill over into small, brave actions. Some days, she'd see you approaching through the window and have the latte half-finished before you even reached the counter. The notes on the cup started simple: "Hope your day is sweet!" scrawled next to the flower. Then they became a little more personal: "This rose matches your sweater today." or "The weather is perfect for a walk in the park, don't you think?"

Each note was a tiny leap of faith. And today, Youngseo was preparing for the biggest leap yet.

Her hands trembled slightly as she steamed the milk. She'd already prepared the small, pink sticky note, her phone number written neatly below the words she'd practiced a hundred times. It was tucked into the pocket of her apron, feeling as heavy as a brick.

She poured the milk, creating a perfect, velvety canvas. With a steadying breath, she carefully drew an intricate lily, its petals unfurling. It symbolized confidence, she'd read. It felt right. She finished the drink, added a light dusting of cocoa over the chocolate syrup, and then, her heart hammering against her ribs, she slipped the note from her pocket.

With one last, nervous glance towards you—who was looking at her phone with a small, gentle smile—Youngseo stuck the pink note to the side of the cup.

"It's Youngseo... let's go on a date this week?" (her number was written below)

She placed the cup on the counter, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. "Your latte," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, before quickly turning to busy herself with wiping down an already spotless espresso machine, too shy to watch her reaction, but hoping with her entire being.