"Some love stories begin with a kiss. Ours began with silence."
The wind carried a soft chill through Havenbrook the morning Yuna Park arrived.
Her suitcase rattled gently over the cobblestone path, the rhythm echoing in her bones like the ticking of a clock she didn't know she was listening to. Autumn had only just begun, but the air was already laced with the scent of rain, roasted chestnuts, and something else she couldn't quite name—maybe peace, or the memory of it.
The town looked like something from a storybook. Buildings stood close together like old friends, their brick walls dressed in ivy and fading paint. Trees leaned over the sidewalks like they were protecting the people walking beneath them. Every window glowed with warm light, like the town itself had been made to hold loneliness gently.
Yuna wasn't used to quiet. Not this kind. Not the kind that didn't ask her to perform, or smile, or keep up. She walked slowly, letting herself breathe as though for the first time in months. Her fingers tightened around the worn leather handle of her suitcase as she passed a flower shop, a used bookstore, and finally—stopped.
A small café sat at the end of the street, tucked into the corner like it had always been there. A wooden sign swung above the door, hand-painted with the name Mocha Moon in delicate cursive. Inside, a soft golden light spilled across wooden floors, and the sound of mellow jazz music hummed beneath it.
She didn't go in.
She just stood there, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag as her eyes settled on the man behind the counter.
He was tall, maybe a little older than her. His dark hair was pushed back loosely, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he wiped down the counter with quiet focus. He moved with the kind of calm that couldn't be taught—like someone who had already lived through the storm and chosen stillness instead of noise.
She didn't know why she lingered. She told herself it was the soft glow of the place, or the warmth in the air. But it was something else.
Something about him felt...familiar.
He didn't see her.
Or maybe he did, and just didn't say anything.
That was the first moment.
It didn't feel like fate. It didn't feel like anything. Just a quiet between two strangers. But that silence would come to mean more than any first hello.
Yuna's new apartment was on the second floor of a building just off campus. The rooms were small but filled with sunlight, and her roommate, Mina Choi, was the kind of girl who made any space feel like a home within minutes.
"Welcome to your soft-girl era," Mina grinned as she helped Yuna drag her suitcase up the stairs. "Havenbrook's not like the city. Nobody's rushing here. People take walks for no reason and drink too much tea. You'll fit right in."
Yuna smiled faintly. She didn't say much.
She hadn't been saying much for a while now.
They unpacked in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from someone like Mina who doesn't need to fill every gap with words. Photos went up on the wall. Books lined the shelf. Yuna placed her journal—still empty—on the bedside table, right where she could see it every morning.
That night, Mina brewed cinnamon tea and sat cross-legged on the couch, watching a K-drama on low volume. Yuna sat beside her, knees tucked in, eyes half-closed.
"Tomorrow," Mina said, stretching. "We go to Mocha Moon. You'll love it."
Yuna knew she already did.
She didn't say so.
The next morning, the sky was covered in soft clouds, and the air smelled like it had just finished raining.
Mina was already gone for her early class when Yuna stepped out alone. She wrapped herself in a thick cardigan, tied her hair loosely at the nape of her neck, and carried her journal in her tote bag, even though she hadn't written anything in months.
Mocha Moon was quieter than she expected for a weekday morning. A few students sat near the windows, typing or reading. The air inside was warm, almost drowsy, and smelled like vanilla, espresso, and something nutty.
He was there again.
The man behind the counter.
This time, he looked up.
And this time, their eyes met.
He didn't smile—not at first—but his face softened.
"Good morning," he said.
His voice was low, unhurried. He said it like people used to say things—fully, like they meant it.
"Hi," she said, barely above a whisper.
"What can I get you?"
She scanned the chalkboard menu even though she'd already decided. "A vanilla latte. Oat milk, please."
He nodded, then paused. "Yuna, right?"
Her head tilted slightly. "How did you—?"
"Mina," he said simply, the ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "She mentioned you were moving in."
Yuna blinked. "You know her?"
"She's been coming here since her first year."
"Oh."
He reached for a cup and scribbled something with a marker. "I'm Eli," he added.
She nodded once. "Nice to meet you."
And that was it.
No unnecessary chatter. No awkward flirtation. Just names, exchanged like a quiet promise.
He handed her the latte and she took it with both hands, fingers brushing his for the briefest second. The warmth of the cup sank into her palms. She thanked him and turned to leave, but paused when she saw what was written on the side:
"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." — Carl Sagan
It wasn't her name. It wasn't even a quote about coffee.
But it was something.
She took a seat by the window, opened her journal, and stared at the first blank page.
She didn't write.
But she stayed longer than she meant to.