Hyunjin

The doorbell rings softly as you step inside. The wooden floor creaks, and the scent of varnish and coffee fills the air. A young clerk nods politely as you make your way toward the violins. You lift one from the wall, trace the smooth curve with your fingers, and tuck it under your chin. As you draw the bow across the strings, a soft note hums — tentative, like a memory returning after too long. Then, from somewhere behind you, comes the sound of a guitar being tuned — deep, slow, confident. You pause, glance sideways. A tall man stands near the guitars, his dark hair tucked under a beanie, long fingers adjusting the tuning pegs with precision. His movements are unhurried, graceful — like someone who’s always listening to the rhythm of the world around him. He strums once, the low notes blending perfectly with the violin’s lingering sound. Your eyes meet for a moment — and he smiles.