I also conducted some informal research. Whenever I met someone, I asked, “If an app like this existed, would you use it?”

I even went to see my former boss and consulted him, as well as the accountant there.

When I told them about my idea, they gave me the same look they had given me when I told them I wanted to become a world traveler.

Even so, they said it wasn’t a bad idea and was worth trying.

I didn’t tell them that my parents were no longer alive and that if I failed, I would probably end up homeless.

With the support and credibility of my former boss, I took out a loan. The monthly installments were almost equal to my parents’ entire income.

I threw myself into the business with such energy and excitement that I barely noticed how the days turned into nights. I had less time to grieve.

I constantly imagined my parents standing before me, watching everything I was doing. The thought gave me strength.

I named my app Café Lunar.

Sometimes I imagined Sina ordering coffee through my app one day and coming to pick it up, only to be astonished when he saw me and look at me with admiration.

Every morning before dawn, I went out to move some part of the project forward.

When it came time to obtain the necessary permits, I was almost ready to give up.

I went from one government office to another, and no one took me seriously. My motivation plummeted.

One day I was sitting in the usual café-restaurant, waiting to meet the person from whom I was planning to buy my kiosk.

I was flipping through a product catalog when I saw Sina walk in.

When he saw me sitting with the relatively young man, he turned around and walked back out of the café.

I felt that he had come to see me and, after realizing I had company, had regretted it and left.

I became a little flustered.

I didn’t want him to see me in that situation because there was a very real chance he would misunderstand.

I decided that somehow I had to clear up the possible misunderstanding.

That day my work took longer than expected, and it was almost night when I got home.

Before going inside, I decided to ring his doorbell and ask whether he had come to see me.

It was the first time I had ever gone to his home, and I was secretly eager to at least catch a glimpse inside.

The light in his apartment was on, and his car was parked in the courtyard.

He was home.

I went upstairs, rang his doorbell, and waited.

No one opened the door.

I rang again.

Still nothing.

A bad feeling came over me—a kind of humiliating embarrassment.

Still, I told myself maybe he was taking a shower, or perhaps he had earphones in and was listening to something.

I went back to my apartment.