Small Favors Complicate the Heart
The human heart grows most complicated not in the wake of grand events, but through the quiet repetition of small favors. Kang Chi-yeol was learning this lesson slowly, yet with absolute clarity.
On the first day it had been a door stopper. Then came the cup of coffee that neatly settled the bill, followed by the flavor feedback traded between chicken and tteokbokki. Objectively speaking, none of it amounted to much. They were the sort of casual greetings and exchanges that could pass between neighboring shops, the kind of information and samples people preparing to open businesses might naturally share.
The real problem was that Kang Chi-yeol had almost no immunity to such minor kindnesses. He had never received any grand gestures of affection in his life, yet the smallest considerations could stop him in his tracks for an oddly long time. A hand pressing down the lid of an instant noodle cup for him. Someone silently passing over a document he had missed. A person who deliberately pushed the chicken drumstick toward him from a shared order. He found it difficult to let those moments slide by without attaching meaning.
What might be simple habit for others, Kang Chi-yeol always read as the texture of a person. Whether that trait was a strength or a weakness, he still could not say. One thing, however, was certain: such people found romance far more difficult. Once feelings took root, they began nurturing those emotions far too early.
That was why he kept himself on guard. Lee Do-hee is kind, but she draws clear lines. The conversations are about business. The feedback is about business. Nothing more, nothing less.
Every morning when he opened his eyes, Kang Chi-yeol repeated that sentence to himself. The very fact that he needed to repeat it meant, in more ways than one, that it was already too late.
That morning followed the same pattern. While he opened the shop door and aired out the space, he deliberately avoided looking toward the neighboring storefront. Opening preparations were reaching their final stretch, yet the list of tasks remained long: final edits to the delivery app descriptions, initial stock checks for suppliers, reconfirming table positions in the hall, sorting packaging bag sizes.
He was clearly busy, but his mind kept trying to carve out gaps. And the moment those gaps appeared, thoughts of the shop next door slipped in. How strong will the tteokbokki smell be today?Will Lee Do-hee come out alone again?Did yesterday’s “That sounds good. That promise” really carry no deeper meaning?
He needed to focus. Kang Chi-yeol planted both hands on the worktable and exhaled slowly. Then he turned his body, with conscious effort, toward the chicken prep station.
Knife work proved more effective at clearing the mind than expected. Trimming legs and wings, cleaning away small bones, wiping off moisture; each step demanded more concentration than it appeared to. Busy hands trembled less. At least, that had always been how he lived.
But a little after eleven, two short knocks against the glass door undid all his efforts.
Knock. Knock.
That particular rhythm had become strangely easy to recognize. The heavier knock of delivery drivers, the cautious way customers opened the door, and the two polite taps Lee Do-hee used when signaling from outside. He disliked how quickly he had learned to identify it, yet he disliked his own ears even more for having done so.
Kang Chi-yeol set down the knife and opened the door. Lee Do-hee stood there holding a single folded sheet of paper. It looked like a small memo.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said first.
“Yes?”
“Do you happen to know a print shop nearby?”
Kang Chi-yeol paused. The question was so ordinary that the tension in his shoulders eased at once.
“A print shop?”
“Yes. I need to print menu drafts, and I’m looking for somewhere that can output a single sheet right away.”
He nodded immediately. “There’s a copy shop at the end of the alley. Pass the stationery store and turn right.”
Do-hee unfolded her memo and asked again. “After the stationery store, turn right?”
“Yes. The sign is small and easy to miss, but they handle printing inside.”
She gave a brief nod. “Thank you.”
He had expected the conversation to end there, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “At this hour they might be closed for a short break, though.”
Do-hee looked up again. “Ah.”
“They sometimes close before lunch to grab a meal…”
As he spoke, he realized he was offering far too much detail and felt embarrassed. He sounded like someone who knew every detail of the neighborhood. Which, to be fair, he did after circling the alley for days on end.
Do-hee considered this for a moment. “Do you know if they’re closed right now?”
Kang Chi-yeol reflexively checked his phone before meeting her eyes. “I’m not certain, but if it’s on my way, would you like me to walk with you?”
The moment the offer was out, he regretted it. Too fast. The willingness to help had slipped out far too easily.
Yet Do-hee did not deliberate long. She glanced at him briefly, then answered in a level tone. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.”
At those words, Kang Chi-yeol thought, very quietly, that he was finished. I’d appreciate it. Nothing dramatic, yet why did such simple language always manage to prod at a person’s heart?
“Ah, yes. Just a moment.”
He quickly removed his apron and hung it over a chair, washed his hands, pulled on a jumper, and left the shop door half-closed. He tried to keep the sequence of movements from looking flustered, but the harder he tried, the more awkward they became.
Lee Do-hee waited without comment. Her calm demeanor somehow made him feel even more self-conscious. She neither hurried him nor pretended sudden familiarity. As a result, Kang Chi-yeol found himself walking with exaggerated care.
This was the first time they had walked side by side down the alley. The realization weighed on him more than he expected. Their spacing was not intimate but politely measured; close enough that shoulders would not brush, yet not distant enough to feel separate. Even so, his steps kept falling out of rhythm. Too fast would seem rushed, too slow would seem hesitant. The alley he usually traversed without thought now felt mysteriously long.
Do-hee spoke first. “You’ve learned the neighborhood quite quickly.”
Kang Chi-yeol glanced at her. “Pardon?”
“The print shop, the hardware store. You haven’t been here long, yet you seem to know your way around.”
The remark pleased him more than it should have. It felt like recognition that he was deliberately putting down roots in the alley.
“After signing the lease, I’ve been walking the area constantly.”
“You really do seem like someone who runs a business.”
Her calm observation made him want to smile. “Until now, did I seem more like a salaryman?”
Do-hee looked at him, then lifted the corners of her mouth in the faintest smile. “A little.”
That small smile loosened something in his chest. People were so simple. A brief curve of someone’s lips could linger in the mind for the rest of the day.
“What gave it away?” he asked, half in jest, half in earnest.
She thought for a moment. “You seem to like checklists.”
“……”
“And you probably can’t stand it when things aren’t organized.”
“……”
“Also, you speak extremely politely.”
Kang Chi-yeol let out a helpless chuckle. “That’s uncomfortably accurate.”
“Was I right?”
“Completely.”
The short exchange felt strangely pleasant. People who were rarely seen clearly by others tended to be shaken more easily in moments like this. Kang Chi-yeol had no choice but to admit he belonged firmly in that category.
“Then what about you, boss?”
When he asked, Do-hee turned her head slightly. “Me?”
“Yes. It only seems fair that I guess something about you in return.”
She appeared to smile briefly before turning her gaze forward again. “Is fairness really necessary here?”
“No… that’s not what I meant.”
His words trailed off. Having posed the question, he suddenly felt he had overstepped.
Yet Do-hee did not shut him down coldly. After a pause she said, very simply, “I dislike anything rushed.”
“Rushed?”
“People, work; anything that hurries.”
The statement could have been a simple preference, yet it also sounded like the explanation of a deeper standard. Kang Chi-yeol turned the words over in his mind. She disliked rushing, whether in people or in tasks. It might reflect her business philosophy, or perhaps her approach to relationships. He chose not to press further; something in her tone suggested a line that should not be carelessly crossed.
Fortunately the copy shop came into view. Do-hee stopped in front of the door and turned to him. “This is the place.”
“Yes. Luckily it’s open.”
“Thank you. I would have wasted a lot of time wandering otherwise.”
Kang Chi-yeol waved the thanks away. “It’s nothing.”
She studied him for a moment, then added with natural ease, “Would you wait for me?”
“Pardon?”
“It shouldn’t take long. On the way back I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
The moment the words landed, Kang Chi-yeol had to work hard to keep his expression neutral. Coffee. Again, coffee. The world was full of the stuff, yet every time the word left Lee Do-hee’s mouth it carried an oddly specific weight.
He tried to answer as casually as possible. “Ah, that’s all right. This really isn’t—”
“I’m the one who asked for the favor,” she cut in plainly.
At that, he could no longer refuse. “Then… yes.”
“I’ll be out soon.”
With that, she stepped inside. Left alone in front of the copy shop, Kang Chi-yeol stood with his hands in his pockets for a long time. His mind had grown noisy.
This is simply courtesy.
For someone who requested help, it’s the natural thing to offer.
A cup of coffee carries no special meaning.
He knew all of that. Yet his heart kept trying to gather tiny fragments of significance from within that very meaninglessness. That was the real problem.
A short while later Do-hee emerged, several printed menu drafts in hand.
“It went faster than expected.”
“Yes. Fortunately.”