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WHEN HANBIN STEPS out of the tinted cafe doors wearing a cream cardigan over a white shirt with some Latin quote in italicised Times New Roman font, Naeun gets the wind nearly knocked out of her.
It's the exact same as before. Everything is the same, from the direction his hair blows to the light morning breeze to the weave of the basket in his hands.
And he offers her the same beaming smile before taking her own basket out of her hands. "Let's go."
Don't screw this up, Naeun.
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