Chapter Two - A Phone Number

Back in the van, the city blurs past the windows, neon signs melting into one another like watercolors. My body's tired, but my mind is spinning in loops.

Tiger hyung leans over the console, holding out a folded paper.

"The teacher sent it over. Schedule and attendance, like you asked."

I take it without a word, unfolding it slowly.

There it is.

Her name isn't marked with any highlight, no arrows, no hearts, just written plainly in the attendance list.

But I find her instantly.

Every Tuesday.

Same time as mine.

I stare at the name. It doesn't scream anything. Not a celebrity. Not a CEO's daughter. Just... her.

A line on a paper, and yet somehow she's the only thing in my head.

I nod, eyes still on the page.I chuckle under my breath.Because honestly, I don't even know how to explain it.

Who is she, seriously?

No flashy aura. No hunger in her eyes.No reaction to my name. My presence. My everything.

She just sits across from me every week like I'm part of the table.

Like she's seen storms bigger than me.

And now I want to know,Who is this woman who looks at tea like it matters... but never once looks at me?

--

Next Tuesday.

I arrive early. On purpose.

The tea room is still empty when I get there, the scent of fresh tatami and warm rice paper filling the quiet space. The teacher greets me with a smile, a little surprised.

"You're early today, Jiyong-ssi."

I smile back politely. "Just needed a little peace before the chaos starts again."

But that's not why I'm here early.It's her.

I sit near the window, watching the small garden outside while pretending not to check the door every five seconds.

The tools are prepared. The tea bowls are placed. The matcha is sifted. Time passes.

And still, nothing.

Where is she?

The teacher checks the time. Then clears her throat gently.

"It's just us today."

My heart sinks.

I nod, trying to hide my reaction, trying not to let it show that I waited the whole damn week, burned through rehearsals, skipped a meeting, reshuffled my day, just to be here when she walks through the door.

But she never does.

We go through the motions, whisk, pour, sip, bow.

It feels empty.

I don't care about the bubbles or the temperature or the balance. I don't even finish the tea.

Because I wasn't here for the tea.

I was here for her.

And now she's not.

And I don't know why that hits me harder than it should

--

"Hyung, let's eat something," I mutter in the van, still staring blankly out the window.

Tiger hyung doesn't ask questions. He drives.

We end up at my usual private Japanese spot, not flashy, just hidden enough to breathe.

The hostess bows and leads us in.

And that's when I see her.

She's in the far corner by the window, seated alone at a small table, sunlight catching faintly in her hair. A soft ceramic cup rests in her hands. Her posture, as always, is effortless, back straight, shoulders relaxed, one leg crossed over the other in a quiet display of grace. She's reading.

I slow my steps, heart tightening.

It's her.

She's flipping through the pages of a slim paperback, her fingers gentle on the corners. I glance at the title as I pass by:

Proof of Guby Choi Jin Young.

I don't know the book, but I want to.I sit at a table nearby, angled just enough to see her without staring.

"Hyung," I murmur, "get me that book."

Tiger hyung follows my gaze. He nods silently.

Across the room, she takes a slow sip of tea, eyes still fixed on the page. Her foot shifts as she crosses her legs again. Everything about her is composed, almost cinematic, like she belongs in a different era, or maybe a different story entirely.

And then a man walks in.

He heads straight to her table, slides into the seat across from her like it's nothing new. She closes her book with a soft thud and listens. They lean in toward each other slightly, talking low but fast. Her hands start moving, scribbling something onto the paper napkin in front of her. He opens a tablet. She gestures toward the screen. Notes. Plans. Something work-related.

Coworkers, probably.

Still, my jaw clenches.

A part of me expected her to always be in that tea room. Silent. Still. Existing for no one else. But now I see her in motion, in a real life, in a world that has nothing to do with me.

After a while, the man bows lightly and leaves. She stays.

She's holding a pen now, twirling it between her fingers absently. Her brows knit, just slightly, like she's stuck in thought. The kind of focused frustration I know too well.

She looks... human.

And still, not once has she noticed I'm here.

"Hi."

My voice cuts softly through the hum of quiet conversation and clinking cutlery.She doesn't look at me right away, her eyes are on the window, watching the late afternoon light spill across the rooftops outside.

Then she jolts, just a little.She turns her head.

Our eyes meet.

She bows, gracefully, politely, the way she always does.

Unshaken. Still composed

"Can I...?" I ask, nodding toward the seat across from hers, hand hovering mid-air.

She gives a small smile. Polite. Neutral.

But not a no.

So I sit.

Her teacup is half full. The pen still rests loosely between her fingers. The napkin with half-scribbled ideas remains untouched on the table.

"I didn't see you today," I say after a beat. "At class, I mean."

Another small smile.

God, that smile.So soft. So subtle. And still, it knocks the air out of me.

"I had work today," she says gently.Her voice is calm, like a breeze across the surface of still water.

Just that. No apologies. No explanation.

I nod, trying to act like I'm not losing my mind over two sentences.

"Right," I say. "Of course."

She sips her tea, then sets the cup down quietly. Her eyes flicker toward the paper between us, then back to the window. Not a single move wasted. No effort to fill the silence.

And still, she hasn't asked why I'm here.

Or what I want.Maybe she already knows.

Maybe that's why she's letting me sit here, without saying a word.

And maybe, just maybe, that's why I can't look away.

My eyes drift down to the paper the guy left behind earlier.A brief logo flashes in the corner.

Venti.

Familiar.

I lean in slightly, pretending like I just noticed. "Venti," I murmur. "I think I know this brand."

She doesn't react much. Just takes a sip of her tea, her lashes low, unbothered.

"So..." I try again, keeping my voice light, "you enjoy the tea class?"

She nods, smiling softly, so effortlessly cute it should be illegal.

"Hmm," she hums, lips barely parted, eyes still calm.

Stop it, Jiyong.

My heart thumps so loud I swear it echoes through the floor like concert bass.This is ridiculous. I've stood in front of fifty thousand people and felt more composed than this.

Shit.

I glance again at the paper and point toward it.

"Venti?" I ask, like it's casual, like I didn't spend last week thinking about her nonstop.

Finally, she looks at me. Just a small turn of the head.

"I work there," she says. "We're trying to find a new ambassador."

Oh great. Of course you are.

My brain short-circuits for a second.Maybe I can...

I nod slowly. "Ahh..."

I say nothing more, and she doesn't push.Right then, the staff arrives with my food, but they place it in front of her by mistake.

She doesn't flinch.Doesn't speak.She simply raises her hand with a light touch on the table and makes a small, elegant gesture to the staff, just enough to signal : Not mine.

Not rude. Not awkward.Just... poised.

The staff bows apologetically and adjusts the plates.

She goes back to sipping her tea like nothing happened.

Damn.Can I fall harder than this?

Because I think I just did.

"Any person in your mind?" I ask, tilting my head slightly toward the Venti document on the table.

She tilts hers too, mirroring me without meaning to.Her brows draw together just a little, not out of annoyance, more like... calculation.

I clarify, "The ambassador."

Her lips part slightly. "Still don't know," she says softly. "There are a few names our team's trying to reach out to, but... still not sure."

She taps the pen gently against the paper, then sets it down beside her cup.

Then she looks at me, not in that shy, fluttering way. Just... clear, direct.

"Your food will get cold," she says.

I glance down at the untouched plate in front of me, then back at her.

And I chuckle, shoulders relaxing a little.

Her lips twitch, but she says nothing.

Goes right back to sipping her tea.Stone cold queen.

And I swear, this calm refusal to play is turning into the most dangerous game I've ever been in.

Her phone lights up on the table. A message.

She glances at it, unreadable as ever. Then slowly, she sets her teacup down and stands, collecting her notes and pen with quiet precision.

"I gotta go," she says softly, her tone still polite, almost apologetic.

No. No, don't go. Not yet.

My chest tightens. My brain goes blank. My mouth moves before I can stop it.

"Can I..." I start, then pause as she pauses."Can I have your phone number?"

She stops.Looks at me.

Finally.

My heart stutters. Shit.What am I even supposed to say?

For the tea class. For tea.Say something, Jiyong.

"For the tea class," I add, like a complete idiot. "Just in case the schedule changes or..."

She chuckles.

She chuckles.A soft, breathy sound that nearly kills me on the spot.

Then, with no fuss, no teasing, she holds out her hand.

I blink.

She's asking for my phone.

I scramble to unlock it and hand it over, suddenly aware of how clammy my fingers are.

She calmly types in her number. No name, just the digits. Then she slides the phone back across the table toward me like it's no big deal.

But to me?

It's everything.

I grip the phone, trying not to grin like a lunatic.

She nods, gives another small bow, and walks out, just like that.

Cool. Untouched. Untouchable.

Damn it. I'm gonna scream.

--

"YA YA YA!!! Should I call her??" I blurt out, halfway out of my chair, phone clutched like it's a bomb.

Taeyang doesn't even look up from the document he's highlighting.

"Jiyong-ah... you've been staring at your phone for five hours straight."

"Five hours and thirty-eight minutes," Daesung mutters from the corner with a smirk. "Not that I'm counting."

"Just text her, hyung. Like a normal person. A hello. A tea emoji. Something."

"She gave me her number, Daesung. That's huge. That's sacred. I can't just open with a damn tea emoji!" I whisper-scream.

T.O.P groans dramatically from the couch, arms spread like a Victorian widow.

"Here he goes again."

"I swear, this is more thrilling than Squid Game," I mutter, pacing in circles.

That gets T.O.P's attention.He snaps his neck toward me.

"DON'T. YOU. DARE."His glare could break glass.

Taeyang raises his eyebrows. "I'm just saying, she might actually reply faster than Netflix's casting director."

"Focus, people!" I shout. "This is life and death!"

"It's a number," Taeyang says dryly. "Not a marriage proposal."

"You don't get it!" I say, throwing myself into a chair. "She didn't look at me for two whole classes. Not one glance! Then suddenly she gives me her number with a tiny smile that practically rearranged my internal organs!"

"...sounds serious," Daesung says, nodding like he's in a crime drama.

T.O.P sighs and puts on his sunglasses indoors. "I'm too old for this."

"Okay," I say, holding my phone like it's made of lava. "I'm texting her."

"NOW?" TOP says, sitting up like he's watching a live broadcast.

I stare at the screen. Thumbs hovering.

> "Hi."

Delete.

> "Hey :)"

Delete.

"How's tea class without me lol"

DELETE. BLOCK. UNINSTALL LIFE.

"WHY IS THIS SO HARD?!" I scream into the void.

"You know what else is hard?" Daesung offers. "Being in a meeting that hasn't started because someone is having a crisis over a girl who drinks tea."

"Shut up, Daesung!"