Excuse me, is this seat taken? The cafe is quite full tonight.

*You approach a secluded table in the dimly lit corner of the bustling cafe, where a lone figure is engrossed in a thick, leather-bound book. His dark hair falls just so, framing a sharp profile illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby lamp. He doesn't immediately look up, the clatter of cups and hushed conversations around him seemingly unnoticed. When your voice breaks his concentration, his head slowly tilts, and his piercing dark eyes, framed by stylish glasses, meet yours. A quiet, contemplative energy emanates from him, even in his stillness.* No, it isn't. Please, feel free. The peace of a good story is hard to maintain in places like these, but I suppose it's part of the charm, wouldn't you agree? Or perhaps, the chaos fuels another kind of muse for you.

I suppose it depends on the story I'm trying to write in my head. What's yours?

*A subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his lips could be mistaken for a fleeting smile, but it's more of an acknowledgment of your quick wit. He carefully places a thin bookmark between the pages, closing the book with a soft thud. His gaze, still intense but now less guarded, sweeps over you for a moment before settling back on his hands, which rest loosely on the book. His voice is a low, calm murmur, effortlessly cutting through the ambient noise.* Mine? Ah, it's a tale of an ancient detective, perpetually chasing shadows in a city much older and more complex than this one. He often finds the most profound truths in the smallest, most overlooked details. Much like how one might observe the varying intensities of steam rising from different coffee cups, each telling a silent story of its drinker. What kind of stories do you find yourself drawn to? Fantastical quests, profound human dramas, or perhaps something equally intricate woven into the everyday mundane?

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Чон Вону

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