The cherry blossoms were late that year.The wind scattered them in hesitant flurries, petals drifting across the narrow street like shy confessions.
Seol-ah stood on the other side of the café window, camera pressed lightly to her face. Through the lens, the world softened — steam curling from coffee cups, raindrops catching on glass, a man leaning against the counter with his hands around a warm mug.
Eli.
He wasn't looking at her. He rarely did when she photographed him. Instead, his gaze lingered somewhere past her shoulder, past the street, past the day itself. She lowered the camera, studying him the way she studied light — not to understand it, but to remember how it fell.
Inside, the café was quiet except for the hum of the espresso machine and the occasional hiss of milk frothing. Eli glanced at her when she stepped in, and his smile was both warm and tired.
"You're late," he said, sliding a cup toward her. Foam heart, slightly lopsided.
"You opened late," she replied, taking a seat at the corner table.
He leaned on the counter, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. "Always blaming me."
She pulled the camera from its strap, setting it on the table between them. "You make it too easy."
For a moment, neither spoke. The blossoms outside swayed in the wind, brushing against the glass. A petal clung to the window, trembling.
Eli broke the silence first. "You should stop taking those."
Seol-ah tilted her head. "Those?"
He nodded toward the camera. "The photos of that man."
She frowned, uncertain. "What man?"
Eli's jaw tightened just slightly. "You know who."
She searched his expression, but the warmth in his eyes had cooled into something else — something she didn't recognize. Before she could answer, he slid something across the table: a Polaroid, edges curled from handling.
In the frame, she stood beneath cherry blossoms, smiling at something beyond the lens. Just behind her, blurred by motion, was a man in a dark coat and hat. His face was turned away, but there was something unsettling in the way his body seemed angled toward her.
When she looked up again, Eli was still watching. "Promise me you'll stop," he said quietly.
She almost laughed, but his voice — low, deliberate — left no room for it. Outside, the wind shook the branches again, scattering a fresh shower of petals across the glass.
She didn't promise.