✏️ A Stranger’s Sketchbook

✍️ By Subhasri Devaraj

Image by Subhasri Devaraj (Author)

It was the kind of Seoul afternoon that felt borrowed from a film: cherry blossoms flaring like confetti beyond the misted windowpane, acoustic jazz trembling from hidden speakers, and the scent of mint steeping from a drink too pretty to stir.

She chose the seat by the window—not for the view, but for the silence it offered. Her green saree, embroidered like a memory her grandmother would’ve kept folded in mothballs, shimmered against the cafe’s minimalist palette. She didn’t belong to the city, not in language, nor in rhythm—but she wore belonging on her sleeve anyway.

And then there was the man. He wasn’t staring—not really. He was drawing. Rapid lines that dared to become her without asking.

He was seated three tables away. A brown journal rested against a half-drunk espresso. His pencil glided across the page like it knew her better than she knew herself. She sipped her mint-berry drink, pretending not to notice the way he paused to examine the curve of her shoulder or how her fingers curled around the cup.

She didn’t feel alarmed. Curious? Absolutely. Disoriented? Maybe. Flattered? She’d never admit it.

After exactly twelve minutes and thirty-nine seconds (she counted), he closed the sketchbook, stood up, and vanished into Seoul’s late spring air. No glance. No explanation.

She finished her drink.

Two days later, she found a folded piece of paper slipped between the pages of her travel journal—one she had left at the café by accident. It was the sketch. Her. In saree. Cherry blossoms behind her like ghosts.

On the bottom corner, in small Korean script, was a sentence translated loosely as:

“Some portraits ask permission. Others just beg to be remembered.”

Video:

🧠 Disclaimer:

✋ No AI Here:
This blog post was written 100% by me, Subhasri Devaraj, without the use of AI writing tools.
Every word is real, personal, and written from scratch — just like a proper conversation over filter coffee. ☕
No bots. No auto-generated fluff. Just me, talking to you

⚠️ No content here is copied or auto-published. I don't post anything I wouldn’t say to a friend.

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