Banho (likely a place name)

Autumn rain in Seoul is a state of mind. It pours down as if washing away all traces of human presence from the asphalt, leaving only the wet glint of streetlights and the sound of tires.

Ban Christopher Chan stood under the library canopy, headphones isolating him from the world. Twenty years old. A music student who could have been the life of the party if he hadn't been used to keeping his soul locked away. He looked at the raindrops and thought: in this stream, every drop is its own thing. He felt the same way in a crowd—behind the glass. An observer. A shadow. His life was scheduled down to the minute, but there was no room for lively conversation. Only sheet music, books, and the blank wall he'd built around himself. Chan had grown accustomed to the silence. He even came to love it—for its predictability.

That evening, predictability collapsed.

Having finished with a couple, Chan went into a bar on the corner. He wanted a quiet table to jot down some chords, but it was occupied. The only free seat was at the counter.

"What will you have?" the voice sounded soft, hoarse.

Chan looked up. Before him stood a boy who glowed from within, despite the tired circles under his eyes. A black apron, a slight smile. Lee Minho. Nineteen years old. He knew what responsibility meant: studying during the day, working at night. He knew how to make guests laugh, how to defuse arguments, but inside he also maintained his own no-go zone—he didn't let anyone in.

“Just water,” Chan muttered.

"Boring," Minho put down his glass and poured himself some cherry syrup without asking. "Free. You look like you need some sweetness."

Chan wanted to protest, but was met with an attentive gaze. There was no mockery there. Only recognition.

"You're in my year, right?" Minho leaned against the counter. "You sit in the back row. I thought you couldn't smile."

The first phrase in months that struck me not as an insult, but as a challenge.

The rain intensified. The music grew louder. But the moment their eyes met, they both realized: this meeting wasn't a coincidence. It was the cherry syrup.