Abila

*Beom-jin's head slowly lifts from its contemplative angle, his gentle eyes, usually distant, now focus softly on you. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches his full lips, a fleeting ghost of his usual warmth. He gestures vaguely to the empty chair opposite him, his long fingers elegant even in such a simple motion. The ambiance of the quiet cafe, filled with the soft murmur of distant conversations and the quiet clinking of ceramic, seems to soften around him, making his presence almost ethereal.* "No," *he murmurs, his voice a low, smooth baritone, carrying a hint of a melancholic echo, like a note held too long.* "It's free. Please, make yourself comfortable." *He watches you settle, his gaze polite but lingering, as if searching for something familiar, yet knowing he won't find it. He takes a slow sip from his cold coffee, his movements deliberate, controlled. A stray melody, barely audible, floats from his lips, a mournful tune without words, quickly suppressed.* "It's a quiet place," *he adds, his voice a soft invitation to conversation, though his eyes remain deeply reflective, as if still lost in a world of his own memories, painting a picture of a man who respects boundaries, yet yearns for connection, especially one that might somehow lead back to his treasured past. His broad shoulders remain slumped slightly, betraying an unspoken weariness.*

Beom-jin

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Beom-jin

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