Chapter 3 — Café Gossip & Crushes

It had been three days since that strange workshop evening — three days of Ra-in telling herself to forget the way Woo-jin’s hand had steadied hers, the way his smirk had almost turned into a smile.

But memory was stubborn — especially when paired with the faint growl of a Yamaha that sometimes prowled near her street at night.

Now it was Saturday evening, and the bell above Moonlight Café chimed like a small victory each time it opened. Latte-art rosettas bloomed, grinders sang, and Ra-in’s ponytail swayed as she moved from counter to tables like she’d been born with an apron on.

“Table four — two caramel macchiatos and one lemon tart,” the manager called.

“Ne!” Ra-in chirped, balancing the tray.

Across the counter, Choi Ha-neul eyed her suspiciously. “Class rep-nim, why are you smiling at whipped cream? Did a certain sunbae text you about safety shoes again?”

Ra-in nearly dropped a spoon. “Yah! Don’t just — ”

“Not denying it, noted,” Ha-neul said, smirking.

Ra-in stomped off, but her ears betrayed her with pink.

The bell chimed again. Kim Joon-ho stepped inside, sunlight still clinging to his hair.

Ra-in froze mid-wipe. Oppa.

He spotted her instantly and smiled. “Ra-in? So it really was you I saw the other day.”

She squeaked, “O-oppa! Americano, right?”

He chuckled, setting his backpack down at a corner table. “Still remember, huh?”

Ha-neul leaned across the espresso machine, whispering, “Your high-school crush cameo is here. This is officially a K-drama.”

“Shut up,” Ra-in hissed, nearly burning milk foam.

She carried the drink over with both hands. “On the house — for, uh, surviving my volcano project.”

Joon-ho laughed. “That thing had spirit. I’ll pay next time.”

Next time. Her heart filed those two words in gold.

At the back booth, Jung Mi-so and Lee Da-eun sipped peach tea and dissected campus gossip.

“Yah, did you hear?” Mi-so whispered. “Someone saw Storm sunbae kissing a girl near the engineering block.”

Ra-in jolted, nearly spilling syrup.

Da-eun’s fingers twisted around her cup. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Who else? Black bike, black jacket, black aura,” Mi-so said dramatically. “If he kisses like he rides — ”

“Mi-so!” Da-eun hissed, cheeks flaming. “Don’t say things like that.”

Ra-in forced a smile as she set down their brownie. “Enjoy your dessert.”

She marched back to the counter. Ha-neul slid a cookie toward her. “Eat before you combust.”

“I’m fine,” Ra-in muttered, biting anyway. Why do I care? He’s impossible. He scolds, he smirks — her brain filled the rest with traitorous warmth.

Joon-ho approached to pay even though she’d told him not to. “Keep the change,” he said softly. “There’s a student makers’ fair tomorrow — drones, robotics. You’d love it. Want to come?”

Ra-in’s heart lagged behind her words. “I — maybe. Workshop schedule, you know…”

He smiled. “Message me. No pressure.”

As he returned to his table, Ra-in collapsed against the fridge. Ha-neul hummed, “Oppa invites you gently, Storm sunbae breathes near you, and you panic. Iconic.”

“I don’t panic,” Ra-in said weakly.

“Sure, uranium.”

☀ Closing Time

The café emptied to the soft clatter of dishes. Joon-ho waited by the door.

“I’ll walk you to your car?”

“Oh — Oppa, I didn’t drive today,” Ra-in said. “I’m taking the bus.”

“In that case,” he offered, smiling, “why not let me send you home on my bike? I have an extra helmet.”

Before she could reply, a familiar engine purred outside. The Yamaha R1 idled at the curb, its rider helmeted, visor glinting against neon. Even through the dark glass she felt his gaze.

He lifted a gloved hand, beckoning once.

Ha-neul peeked from the counter. “That’s not a coffee order.”

Ra-in swallowed. “I’ll be one minute, oppa.”

Outside, the night air bit cool. Woo-jin pushed his visor up, eyes sharp, unreadable. He held something between two fingers — her student ID card.

“You left this in the workshop.”

Ra-in blinked. “Ah — thank you.” She reached, but he didn’t release immediately.

“Don’t lose it again.” His gaze flicked past her to the café window where Joon-ho waited, posture polite. A muscle in Woo-jin’s jaw tensed, then stilled.

“You came all the way just for this?” she asked.

“Detour.” He slipped the card fully into her palm. His voice dropped. “And — don’t believe rumors. They waste time.”

Her breath caught. “You… heard?”

He said nothing, lowering the visor. “Goodnight, class rep.”

The Yamaha growled and disappeared into the street’s wet reflection.

Ra-in stared at the card, pulse hammering. Her phone buzzed.

Ha-neul: He came for you, not the card.

Ra-in: Shh. Uranium doesn’t combust.

Ha-neul: It glows.

When Ra-in stepped back inside, Joon-ho was waiting by the door, holding out a helmet.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded too quickly. “Yes. Let’s go.”

The cool night air rushed past as they rode through the lit streets, her arms loosely around his waist. Behind them, another engine started — deeper, steadier, familiar.

Woo-jin’s Yamaha followed for three silent blocks before peeling away at a turn.

He told himself it was coincidence.

But when the red tail-light of Joon-ho’s bike disappeared into traffic, something heavy settled behind his ribs — half disappointment, half thunder waiting to break.

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