"Are you feeling better?"
Naima could only hold her breath, her lips curving into an awkward smile.
Inside, she panicked—not because of the friendly greeting, but because of that name.
"Wait—Treublut? What kind of name is that? French? German? It can't be Dutch or Spanish, right?" she muttered, staring at her phone glowing in the pocket of her baggy pants.
With trembling hands, she unlocked the screen—and sure enough, there it was. Her name now read Naima Treublut, not Naima Triasih.
Her eyes widened, lips quivering slightly.
"Okay… this dream just got weirder. I'm not Naima Triasih anymore… I'm—who even am I?"
The barista oppa watched her quietly, his faint smile unwavering, as if reading her thoughts.
"What can I get you?" he asked again, his tone soft but professional, his hands poised to make coffee.
Naima swallowed hard, trying to sound casual.
"Iced mocha, please," she whispered, staring at the empty cup on the counter.
But inside, her heart was racing.
"Okay, don't let them find out you're just a confused tourist from the real world. Focus… act natural… and smile—drama-style smile."
She sat on a wooden chair near the counter, eyes fixed on the barista's handsome face. But instead of getting lost in his charm, her brain started spiraling.
"Oh no. If I'm Mrs. Treublut… that means… I'm married, right?!" she screamed internally, her pulse spiking.
She glanced down at her hand—and froze. A solitaire ring gleamed on her right ring finger, simple but elegant.
"Am I even allowed to take this off?!" she panicked, itching to pull it off but terrified of breaking whatever weird K-drama dream rules applied here.
She lifted her hand, twisting the ring between her fingers, sneaking a look at the barista as he poured a latte with practiced precision.
"If I take it off, will he get mad? Or maybe this is just a dream, and I can be brave—like a drama superhero?"
The barista gently set the iced mocha in front of her, his movements smooth, his faint smile still in place.
"If you're bored upstairs, just come down and chat with us," he said casually, warm yet charming.
Naima held her breath, staring at the cup, then internally commented:
"Ugh, such a marketing line… but so charming. Naima, don't melt now."
He turned to the female staff nearby. "Yu-Jin may not speak English, but Mr. Park does. He spent almost three years in Canada."
Naima looked between them, and before she knew it, she blurted out like a meta-commentary narrator:
"And he's got a handsome 17-year-old son who's going to be your successor, the next barista."
The barista froze, eyes widening in surprise.
"How do you know that?" he asked, his warm voice tinged with curiosity.
Naima forced a nervous grin, her hand half-covering her mouth.
"Just guessing… I guess?" she stammered, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
The barista nodded slowly, smiling faintly.
"Okay then, enjoy your coffee. Do you need anything else?"
Naima's heart pounded as she stared at her cup.
Inside, a ridiculous thought whispered:
"An hour with you in your 17th-floor apartment…?"
The words almost slipped out—almost.
She clamped her mouth shut and hurriedly added, "Just kidding!"
The barista chuckled softly, eyes glinting as if amused by her absurdity.
Naima sipped her coffee quickly, trying to calm her racing heart.
"Okay, Naima. Don't say anything else before your mouth gets you into more trouble. But seriously… wow, he's charming."
As she stood to leave, the barista handed her a small business card.
"Text me your number," he said casually, his tone warm and friendly. "I'll be your guide—free of charge."
Naima accepted it with both hands, bowing slightly in perfect K-drama politeness.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said with a smile, heart still pounding like she'd just run a marathon.
She stared at the card for a few seconds—
Park Minjae.
"Okay, Naima… no more slip-ups!" she muttered internally.
"They'll think you're some kind of psychic who knows the future. I mean, this is a K-drama world—modern but still superstitious—don't make the barista think you're crazy."
After finishing her iced mocha, Naima stepped out of Enjoy Café, her eyes tracing the tall apartment building just like the one from her favorite drama.
"I even remember where the pharmacy, convenience store, and traditional market are," she whispered, adjusting her EZT bag. "Okay, time to explore!"
She stopped in front of a small, cozy restaurant.
"This is where the main leads usually eat!" she realized, eyes sparkling.
"But wait… in Korea you're supposed to eat in pairs… hmm…"
Right then, her stomach growled—loudly.
"Ahhh nooo, not now!" she cringed, just as a man in his 30s passed by—tall, neat black hair, warm eyes, calm yet magnetic presence.
"Oh no. That's the hot restaurant owner oppa! I'm dying of embarrassment…" she muttered, covering her mouth.
The man stopped, turned around, and said something quickly in Korean.
Naima panicked, fumbling for her phone and turning on the translation app.
"What do you ask?" she said, holding it up.
He smiled, switching to clear English.
"If you're hungry, come in. It's already open."
Naima swallowed, staring at the open doorway and the delicious aroma wafting out.
"But… is it okay if I eat alone?" she asked shyly.
He gave a small smile, the kind that both welcomes and teases, straight out of a classic rom-com scene.
Naima pushed the door open. Warm air and the scent of soup and banchan filled her senses. A few customers looked up briefly, but her gaze locked onto the handsome owner arranging dishes behind the counter.
She walked up hesitantly.
"Uh… a table for one, please," she murmured, voice shaky.
He smiled and pointed to a seat by the window.
As she sat down, the chair leg caught slightly.
"Ahhh, classic Naima," she groaned silently.
She pulled out her phone, ready with her translation app.
"First time here?" he asked kindly.
Naima grinned nervously.
"Yes… uh… yes, first time. I… uh… like your kimbap?" she replied awkwardly, with half-broken English and dramatic gestures.
The man chuckled—not mockingly, but warmly.
"You know, our kimbap is quite popular. People say it tastes like home."
Naima pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"Do you have… menu: no pork and no alcohol?" she asked timidly.
He raised an eyebrow, then nodded with a gentle smile.
"Oh, sure. You may have bibimbap, kimchi stew, and japchae. All safe for you."
Naima nodded quickly, pretending to fully understand.
"Okay, nod and smile—don't look clueless about Korean food," she told herself.
"Okay… I'll take it," she said firmly.
As he prepared the food, he glanced at her again.
"So, new to Korea?" he asked lightly.
Naima hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Y-yes…" she whispered.