The Coffee Shop "Starlight" was a hidden gem tucked away on a quiet street. From the outside, it was charmingly unassuming, its warm glow spilling out onto the cobblestones through large windows. Inside, it was even more enchanting: fairy lights strung up like constellations, mismatched furniture that felt cozy instead of chaotic, and the scent of coffee so rich it could soothe the most frayed nerves. To me, it was my safe space. My escape. And the barista Yeosang? He was the spirit of it all.

Y/n pov

I first noticed him when I became a regular at Starlight Coffee Shop. My usual order is a vanilla latte with just a hint of cinnamon, it never changed, and yet, somehow, Yeosang made every visit feel unique.

He was the kind of person who blended in and stood out all at once. Quiet, composed, and a little mysterious. His blond hair was always neatly styled, though a stray strand often fell across his forehead as he worked. His movements were deliberate, graceful even, whether he was pulling espresso shots or steaming milk.

It wasn't just his coffee that drew me to Starlight Roastery. It was the way he carried himself.

Yeosang had a way of making even the smallest gestures seem intentional. The way he carefully wiped the counter, the way his hands moved when he brewed pour-over coffee, the way his eyes flicked up to meet mine when he thought I wasn't looking.

He was like the constellations painted on the café ceiling: subtle, intricate, and endlessly fascinating.

I still remember the first time I ordered from him, and I remember being struck by his voice.
He asked me to take my orders with soft but certain tone.

Yeosang: Vanilla latte with cinnamon, right?

Y/n: How did you—?

Yeosang: You come here a lot.

He said with a faint smile, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly. And I replied, feeling oddly flustered.

Y/n: Oh.

That was the first time I heard him speak. But it wasn't the last time.

Over time, our interactions became a part of my routine.

He would greet me with a small nod and a quiet "Good afternoon." Sometimes, he will ask how my day was going, or he would make comment on the weather. And every time, he did remember my order without fail. He asked me one evening during pick up order time, he slide my latte across the counter. And I replied, cradling the cup in my hands.

Yeosang: You don't change things up, do you?

Y/n: I like what I like.

Yeosang: That's fair.

He said, pausing for a moment before adding.

Yeosang: But sometimes trying something new can surprise you.

I raised an eyebrow.

Y/n: Are you trying to sell me a new drink, Yeosang?

He chuckled softly, a sound so rare and fleeting that I found myself wanting to hear it again.

Yeosang: Maybe.

One evening, as the café began to quiet down, I stayed later than usual. I had my sketchbook open, doodling aimlessly as the last few customers filtered out. And his voice broke through the gentle hum of the café's playlist.

Yeosang: You're an artist?

Startled, I looked up to find him leaning against the counter, a curious expression on his face. And I replied him while holding up my sketchbook to show him.

Y/n: I guess you could say that.

He stepped closer, his gaze flickering over the page.

Yeosang: That's really good.

Y/n: Thanks. It's just something I do to relax."

I said, feeling a warmth spread across my cheeks. And he tilted his head slightly, his eyes soft.

Yeosang: You should share it with more people. It's beautiful.

And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

After that, our conversations grew longer. And I learned that Yeosang wasn't just a barista, he was also a dancer, though he spoke about it with a quiet humility that didn't match the spark in his eyes whenever the topic came up. He told me about his love for the stars and how he often stayed up late mapping constellations in the night sky. He said it to me one night, as we sat by the window during his break.

Yeosang: I think they're comforting. They've been there for millions of years, watching over us. It makes everything else feel... smaller.

Y/n: Do you ever feel small?

I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. And he admitted.

Yeosang: Sometimes. But I think that's okay. It reminds me that I'm part of something bigger.

His words lingered in the air, soft and profound.

It was during one of those quiet evenings, beneath the café's painted stars, that I realized I looked forward to seeing Yeosang more than anything else.

He wasn't just the barista who made my coffee anymore. He was the steady rhythm in my life, the quiet presence that made the world feel less overwhelming.

And when he slid a latte across the counter one day with a small constellation drawn in the foam, I knew I wasn't alone in how I felt.

Y/ n: Do you believe in fate?

I asked him one evening, as we closed the café together. And he glanced at me, his lips curving into that familiar, soft smile.

Yeosang: I don't know. But I think some people are meant to meet, no matter what.

Y/n: Like stars crossing paths.

I murmured. And he nodded, his eyes locking with mine.

Yeosang: Exactly.

Beneath the stream of life flowing outside the café and the starlight painted above us, something unspoken passed through us, a connection that didn't need words to be understood.

And in that moment, I knew Yeosang wasn't just a part of my routine. He was the starlight I have been searching for this time all along.