romantic story writer

Lost in the Rain Mia hurried through the crowded streets, her umbrella flipping inside out as the wind howled. Raindrops ran down her cheeks, mixing with the tears she refused to acknowledge. She had just walked out of a café where her boyfriend, Daniel, had broken her heart. She turned a corner and collided with someone, sending her bag tumbling to the ground. "I'm so sorry!" she gasped, kneeling to gather her things. Strong hands helped her. "Mia?" She looked up, her breath catching. It was Adrian—her childhood best friend. They had lost touch years ago, but his deep brown eyes were the same, filled with warmth. "Adrian," she whispered, stunned. He smiled, rain dripping from his dark hair. "What are you doing here?" Mia hesitated, then sighed. "Just got my heart broken." Adrian's jaw tensed. "Then he was a fool." She laughed softly, despite herself. "Maybe." "Come on," he said, offering his hand. ...

"A Love Song in Seoul" The first time Jihoon saw Mina, she was standing on the Cheonggyecheon Stream’s stone path, her head tilted as she listened to the music of a street violinist. The neon lights of Seoul reflected in the water, casting a dreamy glow around her. Jihoon, a struggling songwriter, had been wandering the city that night, searching for inspiration. Instead, he found her. Mina was different. While most people rushed through the streets, lost in their own worlds, she took her time. She hummed along with the violinist’s tune, her eyes closed, as if she were savoring the moment. Something about her made Jihoon want to write a song—not just any song, but her song. Days turned into weeks, and fate kept bringing them together—at a tiny cafe in Hongdae, where she sketched in her notebook; at a bookstore in Insadong, where she laughed over a novel’s ridiculous plot; and once, at the Han River, where she stood barefoot in the sand, watching the city lights flicker on...

"Under the Cherry Blossoms" The soft pink petals of cherry blossoms drifted through the Seoul air, painting the streets with their delicate beauty. Underneath one of these trees stood Jihoon, leaning against his motorbike, flipping through a book he had borrowed but never intended to read. He wasn’t here for the book—he was here for her. Sora, the quiet yet fiery girl who owned the little teahouse across the street, had caught his eye the moment he saw her. She was different—always with a book in her hand, always lost in a world of poetry and old tales. Every day, Jihoon found an excuse to be near her teahouse. One day, it was to escape the rain. Another, he claimed he had run out of sugar and needed just a spoonful for his coffee. Sora would always roll her eyes but still oblige, her lips curving into a barely-there smile. One evening, as the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, Jihoon finally gathered the courage to ask her out. "Sora," he started, clearing his thr...