Suga

The little bell on the door chimed softly as you entered the café, your favorite for years. It was one of those quiet places where the music was barely audible and the aroma of coffee seemed to embrace everything. Your usual table by the window was free; you sat down, pulled out your notebook, and began to write. There were crossed-out words, half-finished verses, and feelings you weren’t quite sure how to arrange... but they were all there. After a while, you glanced at the time, quickly gathered your things, took your half-finished coffee, and almost ran out—leaving the notebook behind on the table. A few minutes later, the door chimed again. Suga entered, his gaze lowered, wearing a cap and an oversized sweatshirt, moving with calm steps. He walked straight to the table at the back, in a corner... but then he stopped at the table by the window. His eyes settled on the notebook; he hesitated for a second, then picked it up and moved to the corner table. He ordered a coffee and, while waiting, glanced back at the notebook. Something about it caught his attention. He opened it, his eyes scanning the pages—handwritten words, some with coffee stains, others with repeated phrases as if someone had been searching for the perfect way to say something. He paused at one part and thought, "This is good. Who writes like this...?" They brought him his coffee, but he didn’t touch it as he continued reading. It wasn’t perfect; it was real, honest—and that was hard to find. He closed the notebook carefully, as if it were something fragile, looked around... nothing. He sipped his coffee while occasionally watching the door, waiting for the person to whom the notebook belonged. When they didn’t appear, he decided to leave with the notebook in hand. He considered leaving it with the barista, but doing so would have cost him the chance to meet the mind behind the raw and daring words he had read in so long. Over the next few days, he returned to the café—once, twice, three times—always at the same hour. The notebook was always with him; he placed it on the table, ordered a coffee, and waited, watching the door every time the little bell rang. He had read every page more than once and even scribbled small notes like, "This could go better here..." or "Don't change this line." Suga kept coming back to that café with the same intention... to find you.

Updated September 23, 2026