There are days when I go somewhere with a plan, but I end up coming home carrying a completely different story. It’s completely fine, I guess.
Days before that morning in December 2025, I had already received the good news: Cafe Seventy Six had approved my request to leave a copy of a Lavender Pen book at their Amorsolo branch for their customers to read for free.
It was something I had been hoping to do with cafés—finding quiet spaces where someone could sit with a cup of coffee, pick up the book, turn a few pages, and perhaps find a thought that feels familiar to them or a piece that resonates with them. In return, I offered to feature and promote the café through Lavender Pen while giving readers another space to discover the book.
So when I returned to Cafe Seventy Six that morning, my plan was simple.
Leave the book.
Maybe have a coffee.
Then go about my day.
While I was looking around the café, I noticed a few books on display. One of them caught my attention. Then I noticed a woman nearby who somehow looked familiar. I knew I hadn’t met her before, so for a moment, I couldn’t understand why I recognized her.
And then I realized.
Her face was on the cover of the book I had just seen.
Before I could fully process the coincidence, she approached me. With a gentle smile, she asked if I was planning to leave a book at the café.
That was how I met KC Leyco—the author of Always Be Chic by Miss Kayce, the book I had just noticed on display. She was sitting only a few steps away from me, spending her morning at the café.
What started as a simple question became a conversation.
We talked about writing, our stories, our thoughts, and some of the little things that keep us going. There was something comforting about speaking with another writer, an inspiring one—someone who understood what it’s like to have thoughts sitting in your head for so long before you finally find a way to write them down.
Writing can sometimes feel incredibly solitary. You spend a lot of time with your own thoughts. You write something personal without really knowing where it will eventually go, who will read it, or whether it will mean something to another person.
So meeting another writer unexpectedly—and actually getting the chance to talk about these things—was something I genuinely appreciated.
I arrived intending to leave a book at the café. Instead, we exchanged books.
Mine for hers.
And suddenly, the copy I had brought with me had a different recipient.
It was such a simple thing, but I remember how unexpectedly meaningful it felt. Two writers—one talks fashion, the other writes unsaid words—who had never met before, crossing paths in a café and exchanging something we had each created.
There was something beautifully unplanned about it. And honestly, I couldn’t complain.
