I felt a light tap on my shoulder, and for a moment, I froze. I turned around instinctively, wondering who it could be. And there he was, the man I had been admiring from afar. I hadn’t expected him to approach me, not in a million years. He looked at me with calm eyes, but there was a hint of hesitation in his gaze, as if he was nervous. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it—was this really the person I was about to meet here, now?

  “Hello, If you don’t mind, can I sit here?” He asked with a very polite and respectful tone.

  When he spoke, his English carried a smooth, gentle rhythm, but his pure Korean accent was unmistakable. His words were clear, but they had a softness to them, like a melody that wrapped around me with warmth. The way he asked, “If you don’t mind, can I sit here?” was simple, yet his voice carried a soothing quality that made the question feel less like an intrusion and more like an invitation. It wasn’t loud or forceful; it was almost like a whisper, steady and calming, as if he knew exactly how to make someone feel at ease with just a few words. I couldn’t help but feel comforted, as though his voice alone had the power to quiet my mind and ease any tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding.

  “Sure,” I replied, my voice a little unsure as I struggled to find the right words. I spoke in my Singaporean accent, not quite knowing if he’d understand the mix of sng and cadence that came so naturally to me. I stopped my music and took out my earphones to be respectful.

  “Thank you,” he said as he sat down, his voice soft and steady, like a whisper meant only for me. There was a quiet sincerity in the way he spoke, a kind of warmth that settled gently between us, making the moment feel delicate—like something I didn’t want to let go off.

  He lowered himself onto the grass a few centimeters away from me—close enough to share the moment, but not too close, as if he was careful not to cross a boundary I hadn’t set. There was a quiet thoughtfulness in the way he moved, a silent respect that spoke louder than words. It was like he was saying, I’m here, but only if you’re okay with it. And somehow, that small space between us felt full of meaning—gentle, unspoken, and kind.

  An awkward silence settled between us, the kind that made the passing seconds feel heavier than they should. I kept my eyes on the river and took another sip of my coffee, letting the warmth distract me from the tension slowly creeping in. I wasn’t good at moments like this—unsure of what to say, how to start, or whether I even should. My mind raced with possible words, but none of them felt right. So I stayed quiet, hoping he wouldn’t find it rude, silently wishing I could be better at this… at talking, at connecting.