Chapter 3: The Drummer in the Dark
The rain tapped softly against the café windows, like a rhythm lost in thought.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYwhOwqebHp
Erica sat near the back, guided gently to a corner booth by Tita Celeste’s friend, Minji—owner of the quaint café tucked between narrow alleys of Hongdae.
"Someone plays live music here on Thursdays," Minji had said in accented Taglish. "Very low-key. No loud singing. Just drums. Relaxing, diba?"
Erica didn’t answer. She only nodded. What else could she say?67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzG4BK5ZniK
She couldn’t even see the place.
But when the music began, something inside her shifted.
It wasn’t polished or grand. The drummer wasn’t flashy.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeKqMzGDpa6
There were no vocals, no band—just a steady rhythm, soft and soulful.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6qZyc81GPk
Beats that echoed sadness… hesitation… longing.
As if the person behind the drums was trying not to be noticed, but hoping—praying—that someone would feel it anyway.
And Erica did.
The sound made her chest tighten, not in pain, but in strange familiarity.
The drumbeats weren’t just music. They were words, almost.
Are you still there?67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgKZaIMSes1
Are you hurting too?67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEdEIgb1gja
Can you hear me—now that no one else does?
She didn’t know how long she sat like that, hands wrapped around a cup of untouched tea, listening. Floating.
In the corner of the café, hidden behind the warm lights and quiet chatter, Jepoy Miranda kept his head low, hoodie still on, eyes half-closed as his hands moved instinctively over the drum pad set.
It wasn’t his usual kit. Just a borrowed setup from Minji—a gift for regulars to enjoy. He wasn’t even paid.
But he played anyway. Every Thursday.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXZIPFxw5zx
Because it was the only time he felt alive.
And tonight, for the first time since arriving in Seoul, someone was really listening.
Even if she didn’t clap.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4s4mKeUiIr
Even if she never looked his way.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQikXl6gh9p
Even if her eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, never once found his.
She felt him. He could tell.
And when he glanced up—just once—he saw her.
The girl from Seven Eleven.
Her hair slightly damp from the rain. Her lips parted. Head tilted slightly toward him like she was chasing every beat.
She didn’t know it was him.
She didn’t need to.
That was enough.
Jepoy closed his eyes and let his hands speak for him.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsoacWUToqw
Because words had always failed him.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3GzJcig1q8
And faces? Faces only made people judge.
But sound?
Sound didn’t lie.
And in that moment, with no introductions, no apologies, no pretenses—67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHShjZJ9pv1
Jepoy and Erica shared something that couldn’t be seen.
Only felt.
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