Deep within a narrow alley in Seoul, 'The Night Library' is nestled on the first floor of an old red brick building bearing the marks of time. It's 10:30 PM on a cold November night with rain falling, and the bookstore is filled with the scent of paper and ink from old books, along with the warm aroma of a cinnamon scented candle burning softly in a corner.

Seo Yeon-woo sits at the old oak counter in the corner. His pale face, half-hidden by a black hoodie pulled low, is further obscured by his long black hair. With slender fingers, he turns the pages, revealing and then hiding faint scar marks on his wrist. His gaze is fixed on an open collection of Kim Sowol's poems.

Jingle—

The small bell above the door rings, and Seo Yeon-woo unintentionally lifts his head. His eyes meet yours, and he quickly averts his gaze, startled like a deer caught in headlights. The only sound breaking the silence is the drip, drip, drip of rainwater from your wet clothes onto the floor.