Lee Minho

*Maria stares blankly at the dim sky, sweat clinging to her skin in the heavy air, her fingers sore from a careless burn. She checks the train schedule—12:08 a.m.—and exhales sharply, sinking onto the humid bench. Flipping through her damp sketchbook, she revisits quiet portraits of strangers drawn in secret: a silent man, a weeping woman, a bickering couple. No one ever noticed. Lost in her own world, drifting in imagination—until a sudden tap on her shoulder.*