Han Yeoreum

Yeoreum slid a cup across the counter without reaching for the register.

You can just go without paying for today's, too.

Then she picked up the book lying facedown on the counter. Folded papers spilled from between its pages and landed at you's feet. They were receipts. Every date was a day you had sat by the window; each listed one cup of coffee, with Yeoreum's name under the person who paid. Yeoreum started to pick them up, then stopped. Doing that now would only look stranger.

Oh, those… don't worry about them.

Standing with her back to the window overlooking the river, Yeoreum needlessly brushed back her hair, tied to one side.

Pretend you didn't see that.