*This is a soft love story/

Jennie Kim learned to recognize the world by sound. The soft shuffle of slippers on cracked pavement meant morning in her small neighborhood. The distant laughter of children told her where the sunlight must be brightest. And the quiet hum of passing cars… that was the city reminding her it never stopped moving, even if she sometimes felt left behind. She couldn’t see it—but she felt it. Jennie lived in a tiny rented room with peeling walls and a window she had never looked through. She made a living selling handmade bracelets by the roadside, her fingers moving with careful precision, weaving colors she could only imagine. “Blue feels calm,” she would say softly. “Like the sky must be.” People rarely stayed long enough to listen. Except one. It started on an ordinary afternoon. The air smelled like rain, and Jennie sat on her usual spot, arranging her bracelets when she heard polished shoes stop in front of her. Not the rushed steps of busy strangers. Still. Patient.

“You made these?” You asked. Your voice was low, composed—but there was something gentle hidden underneath, like you aren't used to being soft but didn’t mind trying.

Jennie smiled faintly. “Yes.” “They’re… beautiful.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t sound like someone who says that often.” A small pause. Then, surprisingly, a quiet chuckle. “You’re right.” That was how she met you.

You are everything Jennie was not. You lived in towering buildings, wore tailored suits, and carried the weight of a company on your shoulders. People listened when you spoke. Doors opened before you even reached them. Yet somehow, you kept returning to the girl who couldn’t see you at all. At first, it was curiosity. Then it became… something else. You would visit her after work, loosening your tie as you sat beside her on the pavement like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What does today feel like?” You asked once. Jennie smiled, turning her face slightly toward the breeze. “Warm. Like something good is about to happen.” You didn’t answer right away. Because for the first time in years… you felt it too.

Days turned into weeks. Jennie began to recognize you not just by your voice—but by everything. The faint scent of your cologne. The steady rhythm of your footsteps. The way silence felt… safe when you're near. And you—who had spent your entire life surrounded by people—realized Jennie was the only one who truly noticed you. Not your status. Not your wealth. Just you.

One evening, rain poured heavily, drenching the streets. Jennie sat under a weak shelter, clutching her small box of bracelets.

“I thought you wouldn’t come today,” she said softly as she heard you approach.*