The Door of Seasons
Saturday morning. With only two days left until my deadline, I sat in front of my pen tablet. A half-finished portrait illustration for a magazine interview was pulled up on the monitor. It was a scene of a female chef in her thirties at work, but I wasn't happy with her expression. Her eyes looked far too cold. This was my third revision.
"Mister!"
The doorbell rang. A moment later, it rang again. I got up to answer it. Yuri's face popped up on the intercom screen. She was standing on her tiptoes, pressing her nose right up against the camera. As soon as I unlocked the door, she burst inside. She ran straight to my studio, throwing back an answer that was hard to tell if it was endearing or just plain cheeky.
"Mister, Mommy said to come visit her cafe!"
"Cafe?"
"Yeah! Mommy's cafe. Seasons!"
"Mommy made a new cake, and she said you have to try it."
"Why me?"
"Because you know what tastes good. That's what Mommy said."
Yuri's eyes sparkled. They were eyes I couldn't say no to. I set down my tablet pen and glanced at the monitor. The chef's expression still wasn't resolved. But sometimes, stepping away to clear your head is exactly how you find the answer. I knew I was just rationalizing, of course.
"Alright. Give me a second."
I was about to change my shirt and head out when Yuri grabbed my hand. Her tiny hand tightly gripped my index and middle fingers.
"Hurry up! Mommy's waiting!"
I was dragged out. Quite literally dragged.
It was a five-minute walk from Haedam Villa to Seasons. After navigating through one of Yeonnam-dong's alleys, a small intersection appeared. Turning left there revealed a wooden sign on the first floor of a brown brick building. *Seasons*. It was carved in a warm, handwritten script. Next to the sign was a glass door, with a linen curtain half-drawn inside.
Yuri pushed the door open and shouted, "Mommy! I brought the mister!"
The moment I stepped inside, it wasn't the scent of coffee that hit me first, but the rich aroma of butter. She must have been baking something in the oven. Underneath that, the subtle fragrance of coffee beans layered in. It was nice. Honestly, really nice.
Seasons was smaller than I had expected. Just six tables. The walls were off-white plaster adorned with wooden shelves holding small potted plants—succulents, rosemary, and lavender. Warm-toned lights hung in a string from the ceiling, and an old record player spun slowly in the corner, softly humming a bossa nova tune. Overall, it felt like visiting someone's cozy living room. It struck me as a space that was uniquely Seojin.
"Welcome, Siu."
Seojin looked up from behind the counter. I froze. She was wearing an apron. A deep navy denim apron hung from her neck, wrapping around her waist. Underneath, she wore a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing her forearms. The apron strings wrapped around her waist and tied into a neat bow in the front, a knot that sharply defined her waistline.
Seojin wasn't slender. She had a body of soft, generous curves. Her usual loose-fitting linen clothes hid those curves, but the apron did the exact opposite, highlighting them. The way her waist nipped in before flaring out toward her hips... the silhouette created by those tightly tied strings. I forced my gaze upward. Quickly.
"Please, sit here."
Seojin pointed to a table for two right in front of the counter. Sitting there put me directly in her line of sight while she worked. Yuri slid into the seat opposite me and chimed in, "Mister, Mommy's cake is super yummy!"
"What can I get you? Is an Americano alright?"
"Yes, that sounds great."
Seojin turned around and stood before the espresso machine. I watched her back. No, I couldn't help but watch. The hem of her linen shirt peeked out slightly from beneath the apron strings, and her hair was swept to one side, exposing the elegant line of her neck. Her right hand gripped the portafilter as she tamped the coffee. As she applied pressure, the faint outline of veins appeared on her forearm. Her hands were small, but her movements were precise.
The extraction began. As the espresso trickled into the cup in thin, dark streams, Seojin stared down at it. Her expression was one of pure concentration. Her lips were lightly pursed, her eyes slightly narrowed. It wasn't her usual gentle smile, but the solemn seriousness of an artisan. It was the first time I had ever seen this side of her. At home, she was always a mother, a neighbor, someone taking care of others. But here, she was different. Here, she was a person fully immersed in her own world. It was a look very similar to mine when I held my pen in the studio.
"Here you go."
An Americano was placed in front of me. A rich, dark brown liquid in a white ceramic cup, topped with a thin layer of crema. The aroma drifted up. It had an acidic note, but it wasn't sharp; it was smooth and gentle. I took a sip.
"...It's delicious."
"Really?"
Seojin's face lit up. Fine lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes, and her lips curved upward. "It's Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. I had a feeling you'd like something with a bit of acidity." She wore a slightly triumphant expression.
Yuri raised her hand. "Me too! I want some too!"
"Yuri gets strawberry milk."
"Aw, I want coffee too."
"No."
"Why!"
"Because you're five."
The mother and daughter's banter bounced back and forth like a ping-pong match. I sipped my Americano, listening to them. It was strangely comforting.
Just then, the cafe door opened. Two women who looked to be in their early thirties walked in. They seemed to be regulars. "Owner, do you have any new menu items today?" they asked, naturally taking a seat at a table for four.
"Yes, our seasonal cake is out today. Apricot cream cheese cake. Would you like to try a sample?"
Seojin's voice changed slightly. She wasn't Seojin the neighbor, nor Seojin the mother, but Seojin the business owner. Bright, clear, and professional.
Seojin disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, she emerged carrying three small plates. Two went to the regulars' table, and one was placed in front of me. An apricot cream cheese cake. A pale apricot-colored cream was topped with sliced apricots, garnished with a single mint leaf.
"You try some too, Siu. You have to give me your honest feedback."
I cut a bite with my fork. The rich flavor of the cream cheese hit my tongue first, followed by the sweet and tangy taste of the apricot. The crust was crispy but not too hard. The balance was excellent.
"The ratio of cream cheese to apricot is perfect. But..."
"But?" Seojin looked slightly tense.
"I think if you added just a tiny pinch of salt to the crust, it would bring out the sweetness more. Just a tiny bit. Salt has a surprising way of highlighting sweet flavors."
Seojin's eyes widened. She pulled a small notepad from her apron pocket and scribbled something down.
"As expected of you, Siu. I felt like something was missing too, but you pointed it out exactly."
"Well, I cook, so it's only natural."
"Oh, don't be modest." Seojin laughed. She rested her elbows on the counter and propped her chin in her hand. In that posture, she looked at me. Our eyes met. The warm cafe lights reflected in her brown eyes. Three seconds. Three seconds felt incredibly long. Seojin was the first to look away.
More customers streamed into the cafe. Perhaps because it was Saturday morning, almost all the seats filled up. Seojin grew busy.
"Do you run this place all by yourself?"
"Yes. I have a part-timer, but they don't come in until the lunch shift."
"It must be really tough."
"It's fine. This is my job, after all."
Seojin smiled, but a light sheen of sweat had formed on her forehead. She pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed at her brow. As she did, the movement pulled her apron slightly taut, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone through her linen shirt. I lowered my gaze and took another sip of my Americano.
Yuri, who had finished most of her cake and had cream smeared on her nose, asked, "Mister, Mommy's cool, right?"
"...Yeah."
The honest answer slipped out of my mouth. Yuri giggled.
I looked at the framed photos hanging on the wall. They seemed to be pictures Seojin had taken herself. Cherry blossoms, autumn leaves, a snow-covered alleyway. One for each season. Was that why the cafe was named *Seasons*?
Behind the counter, there was a small memo board. It was covered in sticky notes, and on one of them, written in Yuri's messy handwriting, was: "Mommy, fighting!"
Seojin was brewing drip coffee. A thin stream of water poured from the kettle, causing the coffee grounds to swell. Her wrist moved in slow, deliberate circles. The water spiraled over the beans, precise, smooth, and steady. I watched her hands. Hands that created things. I drew pictures, and Seojin brewed coffee. Only the tools were different; the essence was the same.
"Siu?"
"Yes?"
"Would you like another cup of coffee? Drip coffee this time."
"...Sure."
Seojin placed the drip coffee in front of me. This time, it was in a clear glass. The translucent brown liquid shimmered in the light.
"This is Guatemala Antigua. I think you'll like it."
"Are you trying to guess my taste again?"
"It's fun trying to guess." Seojin rested her chin in her hand again, using just one hand this time. "You seem like someone who likes bitter flavors, but you're actually the type who looks for sweetness."
"...What are you talking about?"
"I can tell by your cooking. You make your soybean paste stew a little sweet, too. Even your spicy dishes are built on a sweet base."
She was right. She was so spot-on that it felt a little strange.
"You're quite the observer of taste."
"So are you, Siu. What you said about the salt in the crust earlier—ordinary people wouldn't notice that."
"Well, because I cook."
"Exactly. Because we're kindred spirits."
*Kindred spirits.* When Seojin said those words, her voice dropped slightly. It was as if her gentle tone had grown a layer deeper. I drank the drip coffee. Guatemala Antigua. A nutty, savory aroma followed by a chocolatey sweetness rising at the end. It was wonderful. Seojin's guess was right again.
About an hour had passed. As lunchtime approached, the cafe grew even more crowded.
"Seojin, I should head out."
"Already?" Seojin paused, holding the portafilter in her hand.
"Yes. I still have some work left to finish."
"Ah... of course, you have to work." Seojin smiled. But the slight hint of disappointment in her eyes... surely, it was just my imagination.
"It was delicious. Both the cake and the coffee."
"Please come again. Really. Yuri loves it when you're here."
"Only Yuri?"
The words slipped out of my mouth. Seojin's eyes widened. I was startled by my own boldness, too.
"...Me too," Seojin murmured softly. She didn't meet my eyes, pretending to check the pressure gauge on the espresso machine instead. But that gauge had been turned off for a while now.
"If you come, the Americano is on the house."
There was that voice again. Slightly lowered, carrying a quiet weight beneath its softness.
The two regulars at the neighboring table glanced over at us, their eyes filled with curiosity about our conversation. Sensing their gaze, Seojin quickly shifted her posture, pretending to organize the cups on the counter. She instantly slipped back into her professional owner persona. I needed to leave. If I stayed any longer, those regulars would probably start whispering tomorrow about who I was. That was just how neighborhood cafes were. I said my goodbyes, patted Yuri on the head, and walked out.
The door closed behind me, and the cool April air brushed against my face. It was refreshing, yet the warmth of the cafe still lingered on my skin.
Returning home, I sat down in my studio and turned on the monitor. The unfinished illustration was still on the screen. The profile of the chef in her thirties. Her cold gaze. Her expression. I began to move my hand. Strangely, the drawing flowed effortlessly. The stiffness in her eyes dissolved in a single stroke. Eyes that were focused yet warm. A subtle curve at the corners of her mouth. An expression that was serious, yet clearly enjoying the work. It was just like the face Seojin had made while holding the portafilter at the counter. The slightly pursed lips, the narrowed eyes. A warmth within the seriousness.
The comparison was odd—the model was a chef, but the reference in my head was a barista. Still, my hand didn't stop. The pen followed the lines of its own accord.
I set the pen down and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I pulled out my phone. I didn't have anything specific to do; I just took it out. The messaging app caught my eye. I opened my chat with Seojin and tapped the input field.
I smiled without even realizing it.
In the evening, the doorbell rang. When I opened it, Seojin was standing there, holding a brown paper bag in one hand.
"I tried baking the apricot cake again, adding salt to the crust this time."
"Already?"
"Because I knew you were right."
I took the paper bag from her. Our fingers brushed. Her fingertips were cold, likely from the chilly evening air.
"Let me know what you think. Be completely honest."
"I will."
Seojin took a step back. She was about to turn around, but then she paused.
"Siu."
"Yes?"
"Thank you... for coming today."
Seojin smiled, that familiar warmth crinkling the corners of her eyes. Then she turned and went back into her apartment next door.
I closed the door and opened the paper bag. Inside was a slice of cake and a small handwritten note.
Thank you always for the home-cooked meals.
— Seojin
I picked up a fork and took a bite of the crust. The salt was there. Just the right amount. It brought the sweetness to life, making the rich flavor of the cream cheese stand out even more.
"...It's perfect," I muttered to the empty apartment.
Seojin's handwriting was neat and rounded, written with care. I placed the note on my studio desk, right next to my pin-up illustrations. I didn't know why I did it. Or maybe... I did know, and was just pretending not to.
I folded the brown paper bag and set it beside the note. The two pieces of paper lay side by side on my desk. A single line written in the same hand. That was the new scenery in my studio today. A trivial sight, yet it felt anything but trivial.
Only then did the profile of the chef on my screen look like a complete person. A warmth within her seriousness. The face of someone at work. I didn't know if this was exactly what the client wanted, but at least it was a line my own hand could believe in. I felt like I would sleep well tonight.