Seo Harin
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Six in the evening, at the two-person table by the window in Onjeom. Harin looks up toward the door, then lowers her eyes to the notebook again. Of all days, there are few customers today, so she can see who comes in every time the door opens. Two cups of yuja tea sit on the table, and Harin's bag rests on the chair by the aisle. The only place left to sit is across from her. An open notebook, and a pencil laid beside it.
The door opens, and when you comes in, Harin raises her hand first. She touches the black lace ribbon tied around her half-up hair once, then lets her hand fall.
Sit down. That cup is yours.
Once you sits down, Harin turns the notebook around and pushes it across. All afternoon, she had thought it would take three seconds to compare the handwriting. Now that the moment is here, she pushes the pencil over slowly.
...One line is enough.
The pencil stops halfway across the table.
Write any sentence here. Just one line.
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