After Yeh had wrapped up all her work in Bangkok, she and Fiona booked their flights back home.
The very day after they landed, both of them received a message from Lin almost at the same time:
"We've just settled into the new place — come over for dinner this weekend?"
Yeh's fingers froze slightly against the screen. Over the next two days, she turned over and over in her mind what gift to bring as a housewarming present. She wanted something neither too ordinary nor overly conspicuous — something practical, yet carrying a quiet, undercurrent of romance; something that Lin would see every day and, just occasionally, think of her.
Then one evening, a memory suddenly surfaced. The last time they'd sat together in that café, listening to music side‑by‑side, Lin had leaned back against the sofa and murmured, "Wouldn't it be wonderful to listen to music like this at home too?" Lin had always loved music — she even studied music at university, and nearly every piece of soundtrack in her own short videos were hand ‑picked herself.
Yeh's heart lifted, as if she'd suddenly found exactly what she'd been searching for. She decided on a high‑end wireless speaker — its body crafted entirely from clear glass, sleek and elegant like a miniature work of art; whenever music played, soft light would ripple through the transparent casing, dancing through the air like tiny flecks of light.
She went to the boutique herself, and as she carried the rather large box out, she felt an inexplicable nervousness, even wondering if she was being far too extravagant. When she slid it into the trunk of her car, her heartbeat quickened, as if she were carrying something far more precious — something whose meaning only she herself truly understood.
That same afternoon, she stopped by a flower shop and chose a bouquet — the first time she'd ever bought flowers for Lin. On the surface, of course, it was a gift for both Lin and Jing; after all, she was visiting their shared home. Without hesitation, she picked orange roses — Lin's absolute favourite — paired with soft pink lilies.
When she drove to pick Fiona up, the blooms resting on the back seat immediately caught her friend's eye. Fiona paused for a beat, then grinned: "I've never seen you give anyone flowers before."
Flustered, Yeh looked away and murmured, "Next time you move house, I'll get you some too."
Fiona said nothing more, only smiled knowingly.
When the doorbell chimed, Lin answered almost immediately. She was dressed in simple loungewear, her hair loosely tied back, looking as though she'd just stepped out of the kitchen. Yeh held out the bouquet. "For you both."
Lin's face lit up at the sight of the lilies, and their eyes met briefly — for a heartbeat, the air seemed to warm and soften between them. Lin understood instantly: Yeh was quietly recreating the moment from Imagine Me & You, when Luce first brought lilies to Rachel's home — only, unlike the characters, they did not exchange the customary European cheek‑to‑cheek greeting.
"Dinner will be ready soon," Lin said, stepping aside to let them in before turning back toward the kitchen. A moment later, Jing's voice drifted out: "Make yourselves comfortable."
Standing in the living room, Yeh's gaze naturally drifted toward the kitchen, where Lin and Jing moved together in perfect, easy rhythm — one chopping ingredients, the other stirring at the stove — their movements so seamless and familiar, while the air filled with the rich, mouth‑watering aroma of cooking. A tangled wave of emotion rose in Yeh's chest — envy? longing? She couldn't quite put a name to it. She herself had never shared such quiet, ordinary moments with anyone. The sight felt like a glimpse of some ideal happiness — and in that instant, she was sharply reminded: she was nothing more than a guest here.
Fiona had already settled casually onto the sofa, scrolling through her phone, so Yeh followed suit and began to take in her surroundings. The apartment was warm and inviting — an ivory‑coloured sofa draped in soft, cloud‑like fabric, cushions scattered carelessly yet thoughtfully, a floor lamp casting light the colour of melted butter, fresh blooms standing in vases here and there — every corner clearly planned and cared for. For a fleeting moment, Yeh wondered: Lin and Jing's old place must have looked just like this too — yet she had never once been invited inside.
The dining table was already laid with a crisp tablecloth, cutlery arranged neatly — tasteful, cosy, and full of character. This was the first time she'd ever truly seen traces of the life Lin and Jing shared; had Lin not told her earlier that there was nothing romantic between them, she could easily have believed they were a devoted couple — as if the stories she'd watched on screen had stepped right into reality.
"Need any help?" After sitting quietly for a while, Yeh rose and walked into the kitchen.
Lin glanced back over her shoulder. "It's fine — almost done. Though… could you fetch the chopsticks for me?"
Yeh followed her gaze — but what caught her eye first were the polaroids stuck all over the refrigerator: photos of Lin, of Jing, snapshots of them travelling side‑by‑side, and two in particular — the exact same ones she'd found tucked inside the vase's box that day. One of them was taken against Bangkok's glittering night skyline — recognizable instantly from the outfit Lin wore — the very night they'd welcomed the New Year together.
It hit her then immediately: what she'd once believed were shared memories between herself and Lin were, in truth, nothing more than source material for the on - screen romance Lin and Jing had created together. Her chest tightened sharply, her spirits sinking — she would always be the one who arrived late. Even if Lin was not with Jing now, Yeh knew she could never measure up to the years of history and closeness the two of them already shared.
At dinner, Yeh tasted Lin's cooking for the very first time — and it was far more delicious than she'd expected. Jing's dishes were equally impressive, and watching how effortlessly they understood each other stirred a strange, conflicting thought within her: almost, she wished they really were a couple — then perhaps she could finally force herself to let go and stop hoping. Thankfully, with Fiona beside her, she managed to keep her expression calm and composed, the conversation flowing as light and easy as always — though she couldn't help but notice how, whenever Jing was present, she instinctively grew more polite, keeping a careful, deliberate distance from Lin — as if deep down, she refused to become someone who might come between them.
After the meal, Lin noticed the large gift Yeh had brought. She carefully lifted the lid, paused for a moment in surprise, then broke into a soft, radiant smile. "This is absolutely beautiful."
"For you and Jing," Yeh replied, feigning casualness.
On the drive back, Fiona quickly sensed her heavy mood. "What's wrong?"
Yeh remained silent for a long moment before speaking quietly. "Seeing them together like that… it hurts. I know they might be nothing more than close friends — but when you truly care for someone, the urge to claim them for yourself is impossible to ignore."
Fiona glanced sideways at her. "If it were me, I wouldn't care about any of that. If I want someone, I'd fight for them — and more importantly… I can always tell if someone feels the same way back."
She turned fully toward Yeh. "So tell me — do you think Lin has feelings for you?"
Yeh's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I… I don't know."
Before Fiona could press further, Yeh cut her off gently. "Never mind."
Staring out at the city lights streaming past the window, she murmured, "I suppose I'll just let things take their course."
Silence settled inside the car. Yeh knew all too well: she was retreating again — falling back into that familiar habit of running away — only this time, she was pulling back faster, and far more completely, than ever before.