The morning air in Gangneung carried a crispness that hinted at the approaching autumn. Inside Chocolat Paradise, Mirae stood by the front window, watching as a delivery van pulled up to the curb. The vehicle bore the logo of Homeward, their newly launched line of chocolates inspired by traditional Korean flavours.
Doekyom entered the shop, a clipboard in hand. "The driver's here for the first shipment," he said, his voice tinged with both excitement and apprehension.
Mirae nodded, her eyes still fixed on the van. "It feels surreal, doesn't it? Our chocolates heading to Seoul boutiques."
They moved to the back room, where neatly packed boxes awaited. Each box was adorned with minimalist designs, reflecting the essence of Homeward: simplicity, tradition, and authenticity. Inside, nestled in eco-friendly packaging, were the plum-sesame truffles, ginger-infused ganaches, and other confections that told stories of their heritage.
As the delivery team loaded the boxes, Mirae and Doekyom double-checked the inventory, ensuring every detail was perfect. The culmination of weeks of experimentation, late nights, and heartfelt discussions was now tangible, ready to be shared beyond their coastal town.
Once the van departed, Mirae exhaled deeply. "Our chocolates are on their way."
Doekyom smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "This is just the beginning."
They returned to the kitchen, where the familiar scents of cocoa and spices greeted them. Despite the milestone, there was work to be done—new batches to prepare, flavours to refine, and stories to tell through their creations.
As the day progressed, a sense of purpose enveloped them. The journey of Chocolat Paradise was evolving, branching out while staying rooted in the values and memories that started it all.
Later that afternoon, the golden light slanted through the windows of Chocolat Paradise, casting warm patterns on the wooden floor. Mirae was wiping down the front counter when the bell above the door rang—its familiar chime bringing with it an unfamiliar silence.
She looked up and froze.
Standing in the doorway was Yena.
They hadn't spoken in over a year.
Yena, with her sleek ponytail and designer bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, looked just as Mirae remembered—but sharper now, somehow. More polished. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Mirae," she said smoothly. "You haven't changed at all. Except maybe… more cocoa under your nails."
Caught off guard, Mirae managed a polite smile. "Yena. This is unexpected."
"I was in town for a shoot and heard about your little shop. Chocolat Paradise, right?" Her eyes swept over the displays, the handwritten menu, the faint traces of flour and powdered sugar in the air. "It's… quaint."
Doekyom, hearing voices, emerged from the kitchen. He paused, recognizing Yena immediately—Mirae had told him about her, about the long-friend-turned-rivalry during university.
Yena's gaze flickered to him. "So this is the famous chocolatier boyfriend. You two really turned your thesis project into a business, huh? Impressive."
There was a tension simmering beneath the surface—thinly veiled by small talk and smiles.
Mirae motioned for her to sit. "Would you like to try something?"
Yena shrugged, settling into a seat with effortless grace. "Surprise me."
Mirae returned with a plate of their new maesil truffle and a cup of lightly sweetened barley tea. Yena bit into the chocolate, and for a moment, her expression softened—surprised, maybe even impressed.
Then: "Very nostalgic. I didn't think you'd lean so much into tradition. I always figured you'd go more... avant-garde."
Mirae smiled, unfazed. "Sometimes innovation is about remembering where you come from. Not forgetting it."
They sat in uneasy silence for a few moments, the tension between them crackling like a too-hot sugar syrup.
Yena finally stood. "Well. Good luck, Mirae. Seoul's a bigger pond. Hope your flavors don't get diluted."
With that, she left, her heels clicking against the pavement outside.
Doekyom turned to Mirae, brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"
Mirae stared out the window, watching her past walk away in heels.
"Yes," she said softly. "That just reminded me who I'm really doing this for."
He reached over, gently squeezing her hand.
And just like that, the kitchen didn't feel so heavy anymore.
Night had fallen over Gangneung, but inside Chocolat Paradise, the kitchen lights remained warm and steady. Mirae was still at her station, sleeves pushed up, chocolate smeared across her apron, her brows furrowed in focus. She was perfecting something new—a bold flavor she'd never dared attempt before: a doenjang caramel truffle, inspired by the savory, fermented soybean paste often used in traditional Korean soups.
It was risky. Unorthodox. Maybe even too weird.
But after Yena's backhanded visit that afternoon, Mirae felt something stir inside her—a defiant creativity, a determination not to just succeed, but to speak through flavor. Her flavors wouldn't be safe. They would be unapologetically hers.
Doekyom leaned against the doorway, watching her quietly for a moment before stepping forward. "You've been at it for hours."
She held out a spoon. "Taste this."
He did. The moment the caramel melted on his tongue, his expression shifted—first confusion, then intrigue, then delight. The sweetness of the caramel danced with the deep, earthy umami of the doenjang, while a hint of sesame gave it a subtle, nutty finish.
"That's... incredible," he said honestly. "Weird, but in the best way."
Mirae laughed, the tension of the day finally breaking. "I wasn't sure it would work. But it feels right. It's not something Yena would ever think to make."
"You're not her, Mirae," he said, stepping closer. "You never were. And that's your greatest strength."
She looked at him, heart swelling—not just from the compliment, but from the truth in it. All this time, she'd been chasing perfection, trying to match someone else's standard. But Chocolat Paradise wasn't about mimicry. It was about identity. About soul.
She turned back to the truffles, carefully placing each one into its mold. "This will be our Seoul launch special. Limited batch. Doenjang Caramel."
Doekyom raised an eyebrow, grinning. "That'll definitely get people talking."
She smirked. "Good. Let them talk."
Outside, the moon hung low over the coastal city. Inside, the kitchen hummed with energy—not from anxiety, but from creation, from confidence, from the fire that only rises when you stop trying to be like everyone else and finally, unapologetically, become yourself.