Chapter 3: The Drummer in the Dark
The rain tapped softly against the café windows, like a rhythm lost in thought.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5gNvYZJ9yK
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?38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmHTbyt1hGW
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.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsQM7TCA9vt
There were no vocals, no band—just a steady rhythm, soft and soulful.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUBhh2lx7U6
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?38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡttTVrAUg1A
Are you hurting too?38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBRxDVgxwCg
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.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRFZYNKKeLt
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.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyU7Tl4mku1
Even if she never looked his way.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz5vRR9Cmgy
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.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnAV8YUtnLJ
Because words had always failed him.38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJCw9uSqbIh
And faces? Faces only made people judge.
But sound?
Sound didn’t lie.
And in that moment, with no introductions, no apologies, no pretenses—38Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0whJMFk5SX
Jepoy and Erica shared something that couldn’t be seen.
Only felt.
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