The Pretty Customer
That pretty customer showed up at the cafe again two days later, right on the dot at opening time. She was dressed in simple casual style—jeans, a V-neck T-shirt, and a thin sheer long cardigan. Fashion's true finish is always the face, huh.
“Ice Americano, extra shot.”
Same order as last time.
“Did you bring your coupon? If you forgot it, I can stamp the receipt, and you can bring it next time with the coupon.”
“Pardon? Oh, the coupon. Yes, here.”
The pretty customer pulled out the coupon from her card wallet, perfectly flat without a single crease. Including the service stamp from last time, this made the third one. Stamp! I pressed the cute cat stamp and handed it back with the vibrating pager.
Just like before, the pretty customer settled into a window seat and leisurely sipped her coffee. She gazed out the window now and then, checked her phone sometimes, fully savoring the moment.
“Hope you enjoyed it.”
“Yes. Come again~”
A déjà vu greeting.
-2-
The pretty customer's third visit came the very next day. Today she wore slacks and a blouse, with a small bag slung over her shoulder.
“Oh? Back again. Welcome!”
“...You remember me.”
When I greeted her warmly like an acquaintance, she paused, then muttered with a genuinely surprised look.
“You were here yesterday. And forgetting a beauty like you would be the real challenge, right? Extra shot ice Americano again today?”
I asked with a playful grin, and she finally let out a soft chuckle, reacting a beat late.
“Add a slice of cheesecake today, too.”
“For here?”
“Yes. Oh, and here's the coupon.”
Today, the pretty customer remembered to hand over the coupon too. It was still crisp, without a wrinkle. Stamp! The fourth one.
She took her usual spot by the window and pulled a fancy hardcover book from her small bag. Aha, reading instead of people-watching or scrolling today.
-3-
After that, the pretty customer became a regular, dropping by pretty often. Always the extra-shot ice Americano, always the window seat. Some days she brought a book; others, she just plugged in earbuds and listened to music. Her visit times varied, though, so I couldn't help wondering what she did for a living. Freelancer, maybe?
Some mornings she'd come early to read; other afternoons, she'd stare blankly out the window. No clear pattern, which made me even more curious. What does she do, anyway?
“The usual?”
Her fifth visit. I punched in ice Americano, extra shot on the POS and asked.
“Ah—decaf today, please.”
“Rough night?”
“...That obvious?”
She touched under her eyes, a bit flustered. I chuckled and canceled the usual on the register.
“Not bad or anything. You just look a little tired. Eaten lunch? How about a decaf cafe latte instead?”
I suggested swapping the shot for milk and warming it up. I work at a cafe, but I'm no coffee connoisseur—honestly, I prefer it with milk or syrup. The one thing the owner nags me about. It's my go-to when I haven't slept well or want a sweet nap after a busy day: lots of steamed milk for that coffee-aroma vibe, honey instead of syrup—like from the honey butter bread.
“Been practicing latte art lately, so I can draw a picture on it too.”
No guarantees it'd be pretty, though. She actually giggled out loud for the first time at my words.
“Isn't that just warm honey milk then?”
“That's too kid-like.”
I laughed awkwardly, ahaha, and she stared at me before nodding with a smirk.
“Fine, your recommendation. But less honey, please—I don't like it too sweet.”
“Got it!”
Steamed milk, half-shot decaf, just a touch of honey. I even tried my latest latte art practice... and it failed spectacularly. She giggled again at what looked more like latte scribbles. Side note.
“Enjoy. The latte art... needs work.”
So order a to-go and let me practice more, she said, handing over her card and coupon. My second attempt bombed too. Why won't this work?
-4-
Today my condition was off, and of course, on days like this, we got slammed—no breather at all. I'd felt heavy and achy since morning, like a cold coming on, but not bad enough for the hospital or calling out, so I brushed it off. But today had group orders piling up, more customers than usual, and the occasional rude one popping in to make it worse. By peak time's end, as customers trickled out, my mental health trickled out with them.
Ugh... enough. My life's already at zero.
“Hmm. Jae-hyun, head home early today.”
“Huh? For real? I'm supposed to extend an hour.”
My next-shift part-timer was late for personal reasons, so I was covering, pushing my off time from 3 p.m. to 4 p.m. If I left now, the owner would solo for nearly two hours.
“You've been off since morning. Your face is pale—you'll collapse if you keep going. Early out today.”
She teased that she wouldn't pay for the remaining two hours. Don't collapse on the job—go rest, she said, shoving me out.
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
I swept a hand across my forehead. Fever...? Not sure. I'd felt extra drained today, but was it that worrying for early dismissal?
-5-
Shoved out two hours early by the owner, I dragged home. My condition kept worsening on the way; by the time I neared the apartment, I had to admire her wisdom.
“Hngh...”
Maybe because I felt so sick, but Mom's absence stung extra today. Fever raging, couldn't even twitch a finger, no one to place a cool cloth on my head. I'd been used to solo illnesses in my past life, but this was my first in this one. Makes sense—I'm 20 now, over 20 years since then. And with Mom gone less than a year...
Her absence hit hard, making me ache.
“M-Mom... it hurts.”
I whined nonsense in a hoarse voice and passed out. Or blacked out? No clue how much time passed. Fever spiked while I was out; I woke now and then, delirious between dream and reality, then crashed again.
When my eyes finally focused, I was in the ER.
“You idiot! What good's your phone if you don't answer? Hospital for what?!”
First thing I heard was Lee Yoon-ju's scolding. She'd ordered side dishes from her mom for me, came over—no answer. Worried, called the cafe (I'd left early), begged the management office to pick the lock. Turns out I was half-dead: raging fever, body like fire, ragged breaths, soaked in cold sweat like a drowned rat. Panicked, she called 119 right there instead of driving.
“I thought you were a goner, you jerk!”
She must've been terrified—her words were brutal.
“Yeah, didn't realize it was that bad. Sorry. Thanks, though.”
She glared hard, sighed deeply, and shoved lukewarm ion drink into my hand.
“Don't make me mourn a friend at this age. Be careful, got it?!”
“Then quit your lovey-dovey crap. My stomach hurts from it.”
“Different thing. Heh! Kissed my girlfriend for the first time the other day!”
“...Get out.”
Combined lives, I'm a total ace—why suffer my one friend's romance bragging? We eyed each other down, then burst out laughing.
“Anyway, what'd the doc say?”
I quenched my thirst with her ion drink and asked. Honestly, could a simple cold hit this hard? I was worried deep down.
“Flu with fever. Blood tests normal otherwise. Doc says rest up fully for a few days.”
“Tch. Gotta work tomorrow.”
“Nope. You're off. Told your boss. And Mom knows, so crash at ours through the weekend.”
Yoon-ju, what nonsense? Telling the boss is fine, but why your place? Three nights starting today?
“What if you spike again alone?”
“Take meds.”
“You don't know. Fuck, you scared me half to death earlier.”
Couldn't argue when she put it like that. But still, burdening her mom?
“Wanted you at mine first, but Mom nagged, so...”
Even if Yoon-ju's a true lesbian who doesn't see guys sexually, people talk. Plus, Yoon-ju's hopeless at housework—leaving a sick guy to her felt irresponsible. Her mom must've lectured. To shut it up, Yoon-ju snapped, Fine, you nurse him! Mom said it'd ease her mind, bring him home instead of tormenting the kid.
“Sometimes feels like you're her real kid.”
“Jealous? Be nicer to her.”
Yoon-ju shut up meekly. Touchy topic for me—Mom stuff—so she held back.