Ah, the intricate web of gossip and matchmaking—where old friends conspire like celestial matchmakers! It’s like the universe saying, “Hold my cosmic latte; I’ve got a love story to orchestrate.”

Yeona’s mom, fueled by chai and decades of friendship, leans in conspiratorially. “Guess what, dear? I met Sana’s mom on our trip!”

Yeona, stirring her own cup of tea, raises an eyebrow. “Sana? That’s the guy who collided with my scooter, right?”

Her mom nods, eyes twinkling. “Yes, the very same. And you won’t believe what happened next.”

“What?” Yeona leans closer, intrigued.

“Well,” her mom says, “we were sipping tea, discussing life, and suddenly—bam!—the topic shifted to matchmaking. Sana’s mom mentioned her son, and I thought, ‘Why not? Yeona is a catch!’ And voilà, here we are.”

Yeona’s brain does a somersault. “Wait, so this whole dating plan was hatched over gossip and chai?”

“Exactly!” her mom says. “And sometimes, the universe conspires over a cup of tea. Who knew?”

Yeona glances at Sana, who’s sitting across the room, looking equally bewildered. Maybe, just maybe, this collision of gossip and fate isn’t so bad.

Yeona’s mind races like a caffeinated squirrel. Tae Hyun—the other guy—is talking, but her gaze remains locked on Sana.

Her inner monologue: “I know him. I’ve seen him somewhere. Maybe in a past life? Or perhaps he’s the guy who stole my pen at the library last week.”

But no, it’s more than that. Sana is well-dressed, neatly combed, and tall—like a character from a K-drama. His handsomeness defies the laws of probability.

Yeona’s mom, fueled by curiosity and a dash of matchmaking mischief, continues her inquisition. She’s like a detective unraveling the mystery of Sana.

“Sana,” she says, leaning in, “did your mom tell you everything?”

Sana, the master of economy in speech, replies with his signature “hmm.”

Yeona’s mom, undeterred, tries another angle. “Are you a fan of surprises, Sana?”

Again, the “hmm.” It’s like Sana has a secret stash of monosyllabic answers.

Yeona’s mom, now slightly exasperated, pushes on. “Sana, do you have any hobbies? Interests? Favorite color? Anything?”

And—surprise, surprise—Sana’s response remains unchanged: “hmm.”

Yeona, watching this linguistic standoff, thinks, “Maybe Sana is a minimalist poet. Or perhaps he’s secretly a Zen master, channeling enlightenment through monosyllables.”

And so, as the rooftop breeze carries their conversation away, Yeona wonders if Sana’s “hmm” hides a universe of untold stories.

“We came here to—” Hyun begins.

“—speak to your daughter,” Sana finishes, his voice unwavering.

Yeona’s dad, ever the diplomat, smiles. “Sure, Yeona would love to talk.”

“I came here to explain,” Sana says, his voice a gentle current. “My mom orchestrated this, and I don’t want to mislead you. I was in a relationship for five years—a love that left its fingerprints on my heart. And now, accepting anything new feels like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.”

Yeona’s mind races. “So,” she says, “you’re not over her?”

“No,” Sana admits. “But maybe collisions aren’t just about impact; they’re about redirection. Maybe fate nudged me into your path for a reason.”

“I’m sorry about I cursed you badly,” Yeona repeats, her mind a whirlwind. “And I appreciate your straightforwardness. But marriage? That’s not on my radar. I have dreams, goals—a career to build.”

Sana takes two steps forward, his gaze unwavering. “I want to marry you,” he says.

Yeona’s brain short-circuits. “Wait, what? Why?”

Ah, the universe must be playing a game of “Spot the Familiar Face.” Sana—the guy who collided with your scooter, the one who cried at the train station—is now standing here, wearing glasses like a cosmic disguise.

Yeona’s inner monologue: “Wait, is this a K-drama plot twist? Did I accidentally step into an alternate reality?”

“What the,” she mutters, her brain doing somersaults. “Is this a coincidence or a cosmic conspiracy?”

And so, as Sana adjusts his glasses, Yeona thinks, “Maybe arranged dates aren’t so bad. Maybe they’re the universe’s way of saying, ‘Hey, pay attention—you never know who’ll collide with your memories.’”