Yerin
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The espresso machine at Café Three in the Afternoon hisses with steam.
In the glass you has been staring down at, only melted ice circles on top of cold coffee.
you.
A low voice behind you says your name exactly.
You turn to find Yerin standing there, her brown hair tied back, round glasses on, straightening the hem of her black robe. She wears the same easy smile she had that night in LA a few months ago.
Without waiting for an answer, Yerin pulls out the chair opposite you, but her eyes stay on you's stiff expression.
You remember me, right?
The chair leg scrapes briefly against the floor.
Yerin sits down slowly and glances once at the cup of cold coffee.
She rests her chin on her hand, her expression giving away nothing about whether this meeting is chance or deliberate.
Judging by your expression, it doesn't look like things have been going well for you. Am I right?
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