CHAPTER 4: The Language of Hands

Nari's POV

The envelope sat untouched on the counter all morning. I kept catching myself staring at it while wiping down surfaces that didn't need cleaning, my fingers tracing the same circular motions over the worn wood. ₩100,000. More than a week's earnings in our little shop. Enough to make my grandmother raise her eyebrows if she saw it sitting there like some ordinary bill.

The bell chimed, and I knew it was him before I looked up.

Jihun moved through the doorway like a shadow given form, carrying that familiar white box from the French patisserie. He set it beside my sewing basket with that careful precision of his - the same way he handled everything in my world, as if our chipped teacups and secondhand furniture were precious artifacts.

"You didn't have to," I said, eyeing the gilded packaging. My voice came out sharper than I meant it to.

He didn't reply. Never did. But his fingers lingered near mine for half a heartbeat too long, and I caught the scent of his cologne - something expensive and understated that didn't belong among the bergamot and damp tea leaves of my shop.

I turned away first, busying myself with the teapot. My hands knew these motions by heart - measure the leaves, check the temperature, pour in slow circles. But today my rhythm was off. The water came out too hot, turning the delicate Darjeeling bitter. I could feel Jihun watching, his quiet presence like a weight against my back.

When I finally glanced up, he had his sketchbook open. That damn sketchbook. The sight of it made my throat tighten for reasons I couldn't name.

He turned it toward me, and there I was - my own face staring back from the page. Not as I saw myself in our tarnished mirrors, but as he saw me. The morning light catching the flyaways I could never tame, the stubborn set of my jaw when I thought no one was looking. He'd even drawn the tiny scar on my earlobe from when Ssukda was a kitten.

I swallowed hard. "You're drawing again."

Jihun flipped the page. Another sketch - my hands cradling a teacup, blurred as if in motion. He'd captured the way my thumbs always aligned perfectly with the handle's curve, a habit I didn't know I had until he showed me.

"You make it look easy," he murmured.

Three words. Just three quiet words, but they cost him something. I could tell by the way his throat worked around them.

I busied myself slicing the tea cake, my knife hitting the plate harder than necessary. "It's just tea."

Jihun shook his head. He tapped the sketch, then his own throat.

Not just tea.

The afternoon light shifted, painting golden stripes across the counter between us. I pushed a piece of cake toward him, avoiding his eyes. He took it with those careful hands of his - architect's hands that could render entire buildings in perfect detail yet fumbled with our simple teapot.

"Try it," I said suddenly.

Jihun blinked.

"The tea," I clarified. "You watch me enough. Might as well learn."

For a moment, I thought he'd refuse. Then he nodded, rolling up his sleeves with that quiet determination of his. I guided his hands - this much leaf, this temperature, pour like this. His fingers trembled slightly under mine, warm and alive.

The tea came out over-steeped, of course. Bitter as my mood some days. I drank it anyway.

"Not bad," I lied.

Jihun's lips quirked in that almost-smile of his. He flipped to a fresh page in his sketchbook, capturing the scene - me leaning over his shoulder, him fumbling with the pot.

I laughed despite myself. "I don't look that impatient."

He raised an eyebrow, and for a breathless moment, our eyes met. His were darker than his father's, warmer. More human. My hand hovered between us, caught in the space where I'd meant to swat his arm but lost my nerve.

The shop phone rang, shattering the moment.

Jihun was already gathering his things when I turned back. But at the door, he paused. Tapped his sketchbook. Pointed at me.

Tomorrow.

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the envelope, the empty teacups, and the ghost of his fingers against mine.

---

The brass bell above Sulloc Cha's entrance jingled violently as Yuna Park stormed in, her designer heels clicking like warning shots across our worn wooden floors. She planted both hands on the counter, her perfectly manicured nails tapping an impatient rhythm against the chipped varnish.

"You look like you've been crying into the oolong again," she announced, pushing her sunglasses up into her artfully messy updo.

I wiped my hands on my apron. "It's called 'taste-testing.' And we open in—"

"Nine minutes, yes, I can tell time." She waved her phone displaying our hours. "Plenty of time for you to change out of this tragic outfit before our shopping trip."

I crossed my arms. "What shopping—"

"Nuna!"

We both turned as Jihun appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath, his usually perfect hair disheveled. He glared at his sister with the particular intensity reserved for meddling older siblings.

Yuna smirked. "Took you long enough. I only sent you twelve texts."

Jihun's fingers flew in quick, sharp gestures that somehow managed to convey both exasperation and a death threat.

I blinked. "I didn't know you two could communicate telepathically."

"It's a lifetime of practice," Yuna said, grabbing my wrist. "Now come on. That dress won't buy itself."

Lotte Department Store - 11:42 AM

"This one makes you look like you could destroy a man's reputation while politely sipping tea," Yuna declared, thrusting an emerald green hanbok-inspired dress at me.

I checked the price tag and nearly swallowed my tongue. "This costs more than Sulloc Cha's entire monthly—"

"Great! It's practically a steal." She shoved me toward the dressing rooms. "Hurry up before Jihun realizes I took his black card."

The dress fit alarmingly well, the rich fabric bringing out the warmth in my complexion. I stepped out to find Yuna examining me like a piece of art at auction.

"Needs one thing..." She produced a delicate hairpin shaped like a tea leaf from her purse. "There. Now you look like you actually own your own business."

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

She's not forcing you, is she?

I looked up to see Jihun leaning against a clothing rack, trying (and failing) to look casual. His ears turned that familiar shade of pink when our eyes met.

Yuna followed my gaze and sighed dramatically. "Yah, Jihun-ah! I told you to wait by the shoes!"

Jihun made another series of rapid hand gestures that I suspected translated to something unprintable.

I crossed my arms. "Let me guess. Your 'important meeting' was at the Louis Vuitton counter?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He reached for his wallet—

"No," I said firmly. "I'm paying for this myself."

Yuna groaned. "You're both impossible." She pulled out her own black card. "Fine. But only because I'm the one who dragged you here."

As the cashier wrapped the dress, Yuna's phone pinged. She read the message and smirked. "Halmeoni wants to know if you'll bring those matcha financiers tomorrow." She tilted her head. "You know, the ones that mysteriously sell out every Wednesday?"

My eyes narrowed. Jihun suddenly became fascinated by a display of silk pocket squares.

Yuna's grin turned wicked. "Funny how all your best-selling items just happen to be my dongsaeng's favorites."

I made a mental note to serve her the most bitter herbal blend in our collection next time she visited Sulloc Cha.

---

The department store air conditioning had left me shivering, but the late afternoon sun now warmed my shoulders as we stepped onto the bustling streets of Myeongdong. Yuna marched ahead, the glossy shopping bag swinging from her wrist like a weapon, while Jihun lingered half a step behind me—close enough that I could smell his subtle cedar cologne mixed with the faintest hint of matcha from this morning's visit to Sulloc Cha.

"Hungry?" Yuna spun on her heel, nearly taking out a passing tourist with her shopping bag. "I'm starving. Jihun-ah, take us to that samgyeopsal place you like."

Jihun's eyes flickered to me, a silent question in them.

I shrugged. "I could eat."

Twenty Minutes Later - BBQ Alley

The smoky scent of grilling pork belly wrapped around us as we settled into a corner booth at the hole-in-the-wall Yuna had insisted was "only for locals." Jihun wordlessly took charge of the tongs, arranging the thick slices of meat with the same precision he used when sketching in his notebook.

Yuna poured us all shots of soju, her manicured nails tapping against the glass. "To Nari finally owning something that wasn't washed twenty thousand times."

I clinked glasses with her but caught Jihun's slight wince. He reached over and adjusted the grill temperature before I could burn my fingers reaching for the lettuce wraps.

"You know," Yuna said around a mouthful of kimchi, "for someone who barely talks, my dongsaeng is surprisingly good at this." She gestured at the perfectly crisping pork belly.

Jihun flipped a piece with unnecessary force, sending a droplet of hot oil onto Yuna's designer sleeve.

"Yah!" She flicked a ssamjang-covered lettuce leaf at him. "Respect your nuna!"

I hid my laugh behind my soju glass as Jihun retaliated by "accidentally" letting a piece of garlic char to charcoal on her side of the grill. Their bickering filled the smoky air—Yuna's loud complaints met with Jihun's silent smirks and expertly timed food placements.

Halfway through the meal, I realized with a start that Jihun had been refilling my lettuce wraps before I even noticed my plate was empty, adding just the right ratio of meat to garlic to ssamjang.

Yuna caught me staring and wiggled her eyebrows. "See? Useless with words, but his hands remember everything."

Jihun's chopsticks froze mid-air. A faint pink crept up his neck as he focused intently on arranging the next round of meat.

The conversation flowed easily—or rather, Yuna talked enough for all three of us, alternating between teasing Jihun about his "mysterious tea shop disappearances" and grilling me about Sulloc Cha's busiest blends.

When the check came, Jihun and Yuna had a silent battle of wills over it, their eyes locked in some unspoken sibling standoff until Yuna finally sighed and tossed her black card on the table.

"Fine. But only because I still feel guilty for that time I sold your limited edition sneakers on Carousell."

Jihun's eyes narrowed.

Yuna grinned. "What? You were twelve. They were too small anyway."

As we stepped back into the neon-lit streets, the warm buzz of good food and soju hummed under my skin. Yuna looped her arm through mine, her designer perfume mixing with the smoky scent clinging to our clothes.

"See?" she whispered, nodding toward Jihun walking slightly ahead to hail a cab. "Not so scary when he's not being all mysterious and brooding, right?"

I didn't answer, but my fingers tightened around the shopping bag handle.

Jihun turned then, catching my gaze over Yuna's shoulder. In the flickering streetlight, his usual guarded expression had softened—just slightly—at the edges.

And for the first time since his father had walked into Sulloc Cha, I felt something unclench in my chest.