Every morning at 8:03 a.m., billionaire Joss Blackwell walks into Hazelnut Corner, orders a black coffee, and sits by the window, scrolling through his phone in silence. He never stays more than fifteen minutes. He never talks more than necessary. And yet, for the past year, he's always come back. Barista Gawin Morales never asks questions, never flirts, and never pries. He just serves Joss his drink with a warm smile, adds a quiet "Have a good day," and continues making drinks for others. As their small, calm worlds begin to gently overlap, what starts with a daily cup turns into shared silences, soft confessions, and slow-burning tension that builds like steam in a kettle. Two quiet hearts. One cup at a time.

If you asked Gawin what he loves the most, he would not hesitate to say that it's his guitar. If you asked Gawin what he loves more than his guitar, he would hesitate for a bit, but he will eventually say kids. So now that he's a music teacher teaching the first grade, he could probably say he's living the dream. Until he met a kid in his class named Guinzly, who looked like an exact carbon copy of someone in his past. And then he was reminded about what he truly loves the most, more than his guitar, more than kids, more than life. --- Joss was on top of the world. Until his world crumbled. And he was left alone, re-learning how to live life without the love of his life by his side. So, when he met him again, his greatest love and his worst heartbreak, he chose to love again. And this time, he swears to let nothing get in the way. This time, he'll make sure his love stays. ***

Will the fourth time falling for someone leads to everlasting love?

[COMPLETED] The reunion was a flurry of shared laughter and quiet observations. They sat in the kitchen, the sunlight streaming through the windows, as Poon recounted his life in the city. He talked about his professors, his research into the legal history of human rights in Southeast Asia, and the small garden he had successfully established on the rooftop of his apartment building using Off's orchid seeds. He didn't talk about the Sangngern name, and he didn't mention the prison on the outskirts of the city. In this house, those things were ghosts that had no power to speak. As the afternoon faded into a long, golden twilight, Gawin and Poon walked through the garden. Off had outdone himself; the orchids were in full bloom, a riot of purple, white, and deep, velvet crimson. The yellow lilies were gone, replaced by a row of sturdy, blue-flowering hydrangeas that seemed to thrive in the mountain shade. "I visited the library last week," Poon said suddenly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "The National Archives. I was looking through the original filings of the Sangngern bankruptcy. I found the documents you mentioned, Ayah. The ones about the 'Transaction'." Gawin felt a momentary tightening in his chest, the old instinct to protect, to shield, to hide. But he forced himself to stay still. "And?"