The coffee truck is parked at the entrance of the studio lot like a celebrity that knows exactly how famous it is. Neon hearts, cartoon versions of Jingyi and So-ah, cups with slogans like Marry Me, Jingyi! and Stay Pretty, So-ah!… the whole thing looks like a sugar rush had a marketing degree.

PR is thrilled.
Production is buzzing.
I am clutching my matcha like a security blanket.

“Writer-nim, stand here for the group shot,” someone calls, arranging us by height and popularity in that order.

Jingyi ends up beside me… naturally… because the universe likes to test my emotional cardio.

“Big smile,” PR chirps.

I attempt something between a smile and a grimace; it lands somewhere in the “pleasant confusion” category.

Fans cheer as the camera flashes. Someone screams his name. Someone else screams my name by accident and then apologizes loudly.

I almost wave. Almost.

Jingyi leans down. “You look awake today.”

“I am powered by the threat of public spaces.”

He laughs. “I’ll buy you another matcha.”

“You won’t,” I say… just as he turns to the truck window and says, “One iced matcha latte for our writer, please.”

Traitor.

He hands it to me with a flourish. The cup sleeve says:
For the woman who writes my favorite lines. ❤️

I pretend not to freeze.

“You planned this?” I whisper.

He shrugs… innocent… guilty… impossible to tell. “Maybe the truck is psychic.”

Before I can answer, So-ah floats to his other side, all soft smiles and flawless hair — the kind that doesn’t obey humidity or physics.

She touches his arm lightly. “Jingyi-ya, can we take a photo for the truck owner? They want a cute one.”

He nods, polite… but steps half a pace back, not closer.

Su-Bin brain: Ah yes, the flirt master in his natural habitat… repositioning himself for maximum fan engagement.

Actual reality: a gentleman avoiding contact.

Missing me completely.

So-ah brushes imaginary lint off his sleeve. “You have to lean in more. The angle will be weird otherwise.”

“Ah…” he says, smiling tightly. “I think we’re fine.”

Polite refusal. Gentle boundaries. None noticed by me.

Instead, I sip the matcha and think, Wow, he’s really good at this.
Meanwhile, Jingyi glances at me like he’s checking whether I’m okay or combusting. I pretend to study the foam pattern in my cup.

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PR calls for more shots. Fans start chanting something that sounds like “Jingyi-oppa, heart!” He obliges with a small finger heart and bright smile.

So-ah loops her arm with his for the next photo. He doesn’t flinch… but something in his posture stiffens for half a breath.

I take a microstep back so I’m not in frame. Perfectly natural. Perfectly invisible.

The camera clicks.

I hear a soft sigh. I think it’s mine.

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When the crowd thins, he wanders over to me again, hands shoved in pockets, sunglasses perched on his head.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

“Me?” I blink. “I’m the picture of serenity.” I say, with eyes closed and fingers of my empty hand in mundra pose.

“You’re gripping your cup like it owes you money.” He points out.

“Oh.” I loosen my hand. “That’s just… caffeine bonding.”

He smiles… the lazy, crooked one that could start a religion if it tried.

A fan approaches with a gift basket decorated in pink ribbons. She bows and hands it to Jingyi… but he passes it straight to me.

“For the writer,” he says.

I nearly drop it. “What? Why?”

“She wrote the emotional scenes,” he tells the fan. “I just… acted them.”

The fan gasps like he proposed marriage. “Really?! You’re amazing!”

I point awkwardly at the basket. “This… this is for both of you. Not me.”

“No,” the fan insists. “You’re so cute. I love your blouse!”

I blink. “Oh! Umm… thank you…?” 

The fan scurries away. I turn to Jingyi.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I mutter.

“Doing what?” he asks innocently.

“Trying to make me popular.”

He shrugs lightly. “You already are.”

I snort. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” His tone is warm enough that my brain forgets how to function for a moment.

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We take a break behind the truck, away from the cameras. He opens the gift basket and finds a handwritten card… in Chinese.

I read it without thinking.

His eyebrows lift. “You know Chinese…?”

“A little,” I say. “I lived in China for two years.”

He blinks. “When?”

“A lifetime ago,” I say lightly. “My best friend there actually gave me the nickname Sian-Sian.”

He repeats it slowly… tasting the shape of it… “Sian-Sian.”

The sound hits somewhere soft. Too soft.

I pretend to adjust my blouse, which has decided to exist a little lower on my shoulder than before.

“My real name is Su-Bin,” I remind him. “In case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.” His voice dips. “Sian-Sian suits you.”

I want to answer, but somehow I forget how.

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We rejoin the group. PR takes one final set of photos.

So-ah stands on his right again, bright, perfect, her hand almost sliding onto his arm, but he shifts subtly to speak to the director, escaping the contact without making a scene.

I miss that too. I just think… There he goes… multitasking flirt mode. Smooth.

Then PR posts the selfie online. Within minutes, my phone explodes.

#WriterxStar
#Jingyi❤︎Su-Bin
#EmeraldMatcha
#ChemistryBehindTheScript
#WhyAreTheySoCute

I stare at the screen in disbelief mixed with slight annoyance.

“Fantastic,” I sigh. “Trending again.”

Jingyi leans toward me, voice soft.

“Worth it.”

I twist my pen once… click… and let myself smile without thinking.

Because maybe… maybe it is.

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