Morning sunlight spilled through the café windows, painting soft amber lines across the wooden floor. The "Bubble Café" was alive with the usual hum — the hiss of steam, clinking cups, the chatter of students escaping classes for caffeine.
Lila, with her hair tied in a loose bun and her bright apron slightly crooked, was in her usual rhythm — laughing, twirling the milk jug, humming off-key. She had that kind of energy that made people smile even on tired mornings.
"Lila, focus," her manager, Mrs. Han, called out with a teasing sigh. "We're not dancing here — it's coffee, not choreography!"
Lila laughed. "But coffee is art, Mrs. Han. You just don't feel the rhythm!"
Mrs. Han rolled her eyes and placed a list on the counter. "Here — new stock order. Write this down, we need it before evening."
Lila grabbed her notepad and pen, nodding playfully. "Yes, ma'am! Beans, milk, sugar — my favorite poetry!"
As Mrs. Han started dictating the list — "Six bags of Arabica, twelve liters of cream, seven bottles of syrup…" — Lila's pen danced smoothly. Then came a number that wasn't on the list.
"Four-one-one-four."
She froze. Her hand stopped midair.
Mrs. Han blinked. "What? I didn't say that, Lila. I said—"
But Lila didn't hear her anymore. The world suddenly blurred. The clatter of cups, the hum of customers — it all faded into a hollow silence.
That number — 4114 — pulsed in her mind like a heartbeat. She didn't know why it mattered, only that it did. She felt dizzy, like she'd seen it before. Somewhere dark. Somewhere she couldn't remember.
"Lila!"
The sharp voice of her manager snapped her back. Smoke curled from the espresso machine — the milk was burning.
"Oh no!" she yelped, rushing to switch it off. She coughed, fanning the air as Mrs. Han groaned.
"Every day, one disaster with you," Mrs. Han muttered, though her tone softened. "Go get some air, silly girl."
Lila laughed weakly, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. She stepped outside into the crisp Seoul air, watching the crowd rush by. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel light — she felt watched.
---
That afternoon, the world felt slower. Clouds gathered above the city, and in Re-ha's studio, the sound of pencil scratching on fabric patterns filled the silence. She sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by sketches and color samples.
A soft knock came.
"Come in," she said.
Jin stepped in, carrying a small bag of design samples. He looked effortlessly stylish, as always — rolled-up sleeves, the faint scent of cologne that lingered like nostalgia.
"You forgot these at the workshop," he said, setting them down.
Re-ha smiled faintly. "Thank you. You always rescue my scatterbrain."
"Someone has to," he teased, sitting on the couch. "You look tired. Don't tell me you pulled another all-nighter."
She didn't reply right away. Her gaze drifted toward the small table where the mysterious letter lay folded neatly, its edge sticking out like an unwanted memory. Jin followed her eyes.
"What's that?" he asked.
Re-ha hesitated, her fingers tightening around her pencil. "A letter. It came last night… no name, no address. Just left on our door."
"Anonymous?"
She nodded, then passed it to him. He unfolded it carefully — the paper was thick, slightly yellowed, and in the center, written in clean black ink, were four simple digits: 4114.
Jin frowned. "What does it mean?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But the way it appeared… at midnight… it feels like it's watching us."
He looked at her, concern flickering across his face. "You're overthinking, maybe. Someone's idea of a prank?"
Re-ha forced a small laugh, but her voice trembled. "Maybe. But when I touched it, I… I felt something strange. Like I'd seen those numbers before."
Jin's teasing softened into something warmer. He moved closer, his tone gentle. "Hey… you've been working too much. Your mind needs rest, not mystery."
She looked at him — really looked. "You always sound like you don't believe in strange things."
"I believe in you," he said quietly.
For a moment, silence hung between them — heavy, fragile. The city's hum faded, and all that existed was the soft space between two heartbeats.
Re-ha turned away, hiding a shy smile. "You say things like that and still act like you're not romantic."
He grinned. "Maybe I'm secretly poetic. You just bring it out."
"Liar," she said, her laughter breaking the tension. But when he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile faltered for a heartbeat — that small, stolen moment of warmth feeling dangerously real.
Then she remembered the letter again — that quiet threat in numbers — and stepped back slightly.
"Jin," she murmured, "what if this isn't random?"
He studied her face. "Then we'll figure it out together."
It was such a simple promise, but it lingered.
---
That evening, rain began to fall. Lila returned home later than usual, her hair damp, her usual bounce missing. As she climbed the steps to their shared house, she noticed the soft light spilling from the living room window.
Inside, Re-ha sat by the window, the letter resting on her lap, untouched since Jin left. The rain tapped against the glass, and the city lights blurred like distant memories.
"Hey," Lila said softly, setting her bag down. "You okay?"
Re-ha looked up and smiled faintly. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About the letter?"
Re-ha nodded. "It's strange, isn't it? How something so small can make everything feel… heavier."
Lila chuckled nervously. "Tell me about it. I saw those numbers today, out of nowhere. It felt… weird."
Re-ha's eyes flickered with quiet realization. "Four-one-one-four?"
Lila nodded. "Yeah. Why?"
But before Re-ha could answer, thunder rolled softly outside, and the power flickered once, plunging the house into a momentary hush.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Then Re-ha folded the letter again and placed it on the table. "Maybe it's nothing," she said softly. "Maybe it's something we're meant to find out."
Lila smiled, though unease lingered in her eyes. "Then I hope it's not too scary."
Re-ha laughed lightly. "We've faced worse things — like burnt coffee and Jin's bad jokes."
That broke the tension. They laughed together, softly, the sound warm against the rhythm of rain.
But when Lila went to her room and the lights finally went out, Re-ha remained by the window. She looked at the folded letter one last time.
The ink seemed darker now, the numbers sharper.
4114.
Outside, the rain whispered against the glass — steady, relentless.
And somewhere, deep in the distance, an old clock began to tick again.
---