He texted me three hours later.
I know this because I checked my phone approximately every four minutes after getting back from running club, showering, and pretending to focus on my Constitutional Law reading.
Bok-Jin: Is Saturday afternoon too soon for coffee? Or would you prefer later in the week?
I stared at the message for a solid minute, my heart doing weird things.
Saturday. As in tomorrow. As in less than 24 hours from now.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Don't seem too eager. But also don't seem disinterested. Find the perfect balance of casual interest.
Me: Saturday works! What time?
Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared, then appeared again.
Bok-Jin: 2pm? There's a café near campus, Daon Coffee. Do you know it?
Me: I know where it is. See you then!
I added the exclamation point, then immediately regretted it. Was it too enthusiastic? Should I have been more casual? Maybe just a period would have been—
Bok-Jin: Looking forward to it.
Okay. Okay. This was happening. Coffee. Tomorrow. With Choi Bok-Jin.
Who was definitely not just a guy from running club.
Who was definitely someone I was way too interested in for my own good.
"Stop spiraling," I told myself firmly, setting my phone face-down on my desk. "It's just coffee. People have coffee all the time. It's a normal social activity."
My phone buzzed again.
Bok-Jin: Also, for what it's worth, you don't have to be nervous. It's just coffee.
Me: I'm not nervous.
Bok-Jin: You sent your last message with an exclamation point. You don't seem like an exclamation point person.
Me: I'm a very enthusiastic person. Enthusiastic about coffee. And punctuation choices.
Bok-Jin: My mistake. See you tomorrow, Enthusiastic Coffee Person.
I smiled at my phone like an absolute fool.
This was bad. This was very bad.
I was in so much trouble.
Saturday morning I woke up at 7 AM, which was ridiculous because I didn't need to meet him until 2 PM. That gave me seven hours to overthink every possible aspect of this coffee situation.
I used those seven hours productively by:
Changing my outfit four timesGoogling "what to talk about on a first coffee date" (then immediately closing the browser because that was pathetic)Attempting to study LEET prep (retaining exactly zero information)Reorganizing my bookshelf (unnecessary but kept my hands busy)Checking my phone every ten minutes (he hadn't texted again)
By noon, I was a mess.
"You need to calm down," Yoo-Na said, watching me pace the living room in my fifth outfit attempt—jeans, a cream sweater, my good jacket. "It's coffee, not a job interview."
"What if I don't know what to say? What if we run out of things to talk about and it gets awkward?"
"Then it gets awkward. That's part of getting to know someone." She looked up from her laptop. "But honestly, I don't think you'll have that problem. You're good at talking."
"I'm good at arguing. That's different from conversation."
"It's really not."
Min-Ji emerged from her room, took one look at me, and grinned. "Oh my god, you're freaking out."
"I am not freaking out."
"You're wearing lipstick. You never wear lipstick."
I touched my lips self-consciously. "It's just... tinted lip balm."
"Same difference. You're trying to look nice for your date with Hot Librarian Chaebol Guy."
"It's not a date. It's coffee."
"Coffee can be a date," Yoo-Na observed mildly.
"Well, this is just... friendly coffee. Getting to know each other coffee. Completely platonic beverage consumption."
Both of them looked at me with identical expressions of amused skepticism.
"What?" I demanded.
"Nothing," Min-Ji said, still grinning. "Have fun at your definitely-not-a-date platonic coffee situation."
"I hate both of you."
"No you don't. You love us and you're going to text us updates the entire time."
She wasn't wrong, but I wasn't going to admit it.
I checked my phone. 1:15 PM. I should probably leave soon. Daon Coffee was only a ten-minute walk from the apartment, but I wanted to arrive exactly on time. Not early (too eager), not late (rude), but precisely at 2 PM.
This required leaving at 1:48 PM.
I spent the next thirty-three minutes doing absolutely nothing productive except watching the clock and questioning all my life choices.
At 1:47, I grabbed my bag, checked my reflection one final time (acceptable, probably, maybe), and headed for the door.
"Ji-Mang," Yoo-Na called after me.
I turned. She was smiling, genuinely warm. "Just be yourself. That's what he likes about you."
"How do you know what he likes about me?"
"Because I saw the way he looked at you during running club. Trust me. Just be yourself."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and left before I could lose my nerve entirely.
Daon Coffee was one of those trendy café places that university students loved—exposed brick walls, mismatched vintage furniture, indie music playing just loud enough to create ambiance without overwhelming conversation. I'd walked past it a hundred times but never actually gone in because their prices were slightly higher than the chain coffee shops I usually frequented.
I arrived at exactly 1:58 PM (perfect timing) and paused outside the door, taking a breath.
It's just coffee. Just a conversation. With a guy you barely know but can't stop thinking about. No pressure.
I pushed open the door.
The café was moderately busy—couples on dates, students with laptops, a few groups of friends. And there, at a table near the window, was Bok-Jin.
He was wearing a navy sweater and jeans, his glasses on, and he was looking at his phone with that focused expression I was starting to recognize. Then he looked up, saw me, and his entire face changed.
He smiled. A real smile, the kind that reached his eyes and made something in my chest squeeze.
I walked over, suddenly hyperaware of every step, every movement.
"Hi," I said, and wow, great opening. Very eloquent.
"Hi." He stood up—actually stood up like this was a formal meeting—and gestured to the chair across from him. "You found it okay?"
"Yeah, I've walked past this place about a thousand times. Just never actually came in." I sat down, setting my bag on the floor. "It's nice. Very... aesthetic."
"Aesthetic," he repeated, amused. "Is that good?"
"It's good for Instagram. Whether it's good for coffee remains to be seen."
"Fair assessment." He picked up a menu from the table. "What do you usually order?"
"Americano. Sometimes with an extra shot if I'm really tired. Which is most days."
"Not a sweet coffee person?"
"I like sweet things, but coffee feels like it should taste like coffee, you know? If I wanted a dessert, I'd order a dessert."
"That's very principled of you."
"I'm a principled person." I took the menu he handed me, scanning the options. Everything was slightly more expensive than I was used to, but not impossibly so. I could afford one coffee without completely destroying my budget.
A server appeared—university student, probably working part-time like me—and took our orders. Americano for me, café latte for him, and he ordered a slice of carrot cake to share before I could protest.
"You don't have to—" I started.
"I want to," he said simply. "You mentioned liking sweet things."
Oh. That was... thoughtful. Dangerously thoughtful.
The server left, and suddenly we were alone at the table, looking at each other, and I had no idea what to say next.
Apparently he had the same problem, because we both started talking at once.
"How was your—" "Did you have—"
We stopped. Laughed awkwardly.
"You first," he said.
"I was just going to ask how your family breakfast thing went yesterday."
His expression shifted slightly, something guarded sliding into place. "It was... fine. Structured. My father likes to review everyone's weekly schedules and discuss family business matters."
"That sounds intense."
"It's normal. For my family, anyway." He adjusted his glasses. "What about you? What did you do after running club?"
"Studied. Worked. The usual." I decided not to mention the part where I obsessed over his text message for an embarrassing amount of time. "I had a library shift in the afternoon, then I was supposed to study for LEET, but honestly I just ended up stress-eating triangle kimbap and watching legal drama highlights."
"Legal drama highlights?"
"Yeah, like YouTube compilations of the best courtroom scenes. It's research. For my future career."
"That's definitely what it is."
"Don't judge me. We all have our coping mechanisms."
"I'm not judging. I watch business documentary videos when I can't sleep."
"That's the most on-brand thing I've ever heard."
He smiled, and some of the guardedness faded. "I'm very on-brand. It's my defining characteristic."
The server returned with our drinks and the cake—a generous slice with cream cheese frosting that looked significantly better than anything I usually let myself order.
"Thank you," I said to the server, then to Bok-Jin: "You really didn't have to get the cake."
"I wanted to see if you'd actually eat it or if you'd be polite and just pick at it."
"Are you testing me?"
"Maybe. Are you going to pass the test?"
I picked up the fork, cut off a substantial piece, and ate it. It was delicious—moist, perfectly spiced, the frosting not too sweet.
"Okay, that's really good," I admitted.
"See? Sometimes expensive café prices are justified."
"Sometimes. But I maintain that most of the price is for the aesthetic."
"Fair enough."
We settled into eating the cake and drinking our coffee, and somehow the conversation started flowing more naturally. He asked about my classes, and I told him about Professor Kwon and Constitutional Law and the brutal competitiveness of undergrad law. He told me about his business ethics course and how he was struggling with a group project where none of his group members actually did any work.
"That's the worst," I said. "I had a group project last year where I basically wrote the entire paper myself because everyone else was useless."
"Did you let them put their names on it?"
"Hell no. I went to the professor and explained the situation. They all got reduced grades."
"That's ruthless."
"That's fair. I'm not doing someone else's work for them." I took a sip of my coffee. "Although I'm sure that made me very popular."
"You don't seem like someone who cares much about being popular."
"I care about being respected. That's different."
"It is different," he agreed. "Most people don't understand the distinction."
There was something in the way he said it that made me think he understood from personal experience.
"Do you feel respected?" I asked. "Or do people just... react to your family name?"
He was quiet for a moment, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "Honestly? I don't always know. It's hard to tell who actually likes me versus who likes what I represent. The connections, the money, the potential business relationships."
"That sounds lonely."
"Sometimes it is." He looked up at me. "That's why I appreciated that you didn't know. At running club, when we first met. You just treated me like a normal person who happened to join your club."
"You are a normal person."
"I'm really not, though. And that's okay—I've accepted that my life isn't typical. But it's nice to have moments where it can be. Where I can just be someone who runs in the morning and studies business ethics and gets coffee with—" He stopped, seeming suddenly self-conscious.
"With?" I prompted.
"With someone interesting."
My face felt warm. "I'm not that interesting. I'm just a stressed law student who works too much and has questionable eating habits."
"You're top 1% of your class while working two jobs and supporting your family. That's not just interesting, that's impressive."
"How did you know about my family?"
"You mentioned it. During our conversation on Tuesday night. Four younger siblings."
He'd remembered. He'd actually paid attention and remembered.
"Oh. Right." I picked at the last bit of cake. "Yeah, they're expensive. Kids are expensive. Who knew?"
"Are you close with them?"
"With my siblings? Sort of. I mean, I don't see them much since they're all back home and I'm here. But I send money when I can, call my mom every week, try to be the responsible eldest daughter." I heard the edge in my voice and tried to soften it. "They're good kids. They deserve opportunities."
"What about what you deserve?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"You work two jobs and send money home and push yourself constantly. What about what you want? What you deserve?"
I didn't know how to answer that. Because the truth was, I didn't think about it that way. I thought about necessity, obligation, survival. Not... what I deserved.
"I deserve a good future," I said finally. "Which means law school, which means LEET prep, which means working now to make that possible. It's all connected."
"But where's the part where you're happy?"
"I'll be happy when I'm successful."
"That's depressing."
"That's realistic."
He shook his head slightly, but he was smiling. "You're very determined."
"You say that like it's a character flaw."
"It's not. It's admirable. Just... also a little scary. Like you'd run through a wall if it was between you and your goal."
"I absolutely would. Walls are temporary obstacles."
"See? Scary."
But he said it fondly, and something about the way he was looking at me made my stomach flip.
We finished the cake and coffee, the conversation wandering through topics—favorite books (his: business biographies, mine: legal thrillers), worst movies we'd ever seen (we both agreed on the same terrible action film from last year), what we'd do if we won the lottery (his: donate most of it, mine: pay off my family's debts and then maybe buy one nice meal).
At some point I realized we'd been there for over two hours. The café had gotten busier, then quieter again. The afternoon sun was slanting through the window differently.
"I should probably go," I said reluctantly. "I have a convenience store shift at six."
"Already?" He checked his phone, seeming genuinely surprised. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it has been a while."
We both stood, gathering our things, and walked toward the door. He held it open for me (unnecessarily polite in a way that shouldn't have been charming but was), and we stood outside the café in the late afternoon light.
"Thank you for the coffee," I said. "And the cake. This was... nice."
"It was." He hesitated, then: "Can we do it again? Not immediately, I know you're busy, but... sometime?"
"Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good." He smiled, and there was something different about it this time. Less guarded, more open. "I'll text you?"
"Please do. Otherwise I'll spiral into thinking you hated the coffee date and never want to see me again."
"This was a date?" he asked, and there was something teasing in his tone.
I felt my face heat. "I meant—the coffee. The situation. Not specifically a—"
"I'm kidding." His expression softened. "For what it's worth, I'd be happy to call it a date. If you wanted to."
Oh.
Oh.
"A date works," I managed to say, sounding approximately 80% less cool than I wanted to.
"Good." He looked like he wanted to say something else, do something else, but then he just nodded and stepped back. "Have a good shift. Try not to let any weird customers stress you out."
"No promises. Weird customers are my specialty."
He laughed, waved, and walked away.
I stood there for a moment, watching him go, my heart doing complicated things in my chest.
Then I pulled out my phone and texted the group chat with Yoo-Na and Min-Ji.
Me: I think I just had a date.
Min-Ji: TELL US EVERYTHING
Yoo-Na: Are you okay? You sound dazed.
Me: I'm fine. I'm good. I'm... I don't know what I am.
Min-Ji: That's called FEELINGS, Ji-Mang. Welcome to the club.
I looked at the message, looked back at where Bok-Jin had disappeared around the corner, and thought:
Yeah. Feelings.
I was definitely in trouble.