That night, Lin sat alone in her hotel room.
She didn't turn on all the lights—just the lamp by the bed. Soft, dim, enough to see herself clearly in it.
The quiet felt deliberate.
And then, something settled into place.
If she kept things the way they were—polite, measured, safely within the bounds of "good working relationship"—Yeh would follow that line all the way through. Step by step, she would retreat, cleanly, without friction, into something smaller. Something safer.
Partners. Friends.
Nothing that could go wrong.
And nothing that could go anywhere.
The kind of ending that made sense.
The kind that stayed unfinished.
There was another option.
Break it.
Lin sat there, the thought taking shape slowly, and realized—
she didn't want the first one.
Not even a little.
For the first time, she named what she was feeling.
Not uncertainty.
Fear.
She had always thought of herself as someone unafraid—used to being liked, used to being approached, used to holding the upper hand without effort. Most of the time, she didn't have to move at all.
People came to her.
But this wasn't that.
This time, she understood something with unsettling clarity—
what made her uneasy wasn't rejection.
It was being… give up.
Reasonably. Quietly. Without a scene.
If this went on, it wouldn't be that she didn't need Yeh.
It would be that Yeh would stop needing her.
She straightened slightly.
Picked up her phone.
Paused.
Then sent it anyway.
Are you free tomorrow? Want to grab coffee and talk? I like talking to you.
She didn't take it back.
When Yeh saw the message, her gaze lingered on the screen for a long moment.
She didn't reply right away.
Instead, she let out a soft breath.
She knew exactly what she was hesitating over.
And she knew, just as clearly, what the answer already was—
she wanted to see her.
No reason needed.
The feeling came clean. Direct.
She typed, kept it simple.
Sure. I'll find a place.
After sending it, she gave herself an explanation—
just as friends.
Just… a conversation.