During next few days, Yeh had deliberately retreated back into that familiar stance of never taking the initiative. She stopped replying to Lin's messages the moment they arrived; sometimes she would wait a while before sending a brief, cool response, steadily and quietly pulling back the closeness they had just begun to build.
The call from Lin came very late that night.
Yeh had just stepped out of the shower, her hair was still damp at the ends. She sat loosely on the sofa, a towel draped over her shoulders, and glanced instinctively at the time when her phone rang: 23:29. Her heart tightened sharply at the name glowing on the screen. Lin.
She stared at those characters for two seconds, suppressing a surge of emotion, before answering. "Hello?"
There was faint background noise on the line—the kind heard outside a bar, wind mixing with distant voices. Lin's voice was low, softer than usual, carrying a subtle, heavy weariness.
"You… are you at home?" Lin asked.
Yeh's chest tightened. "Yes. What is it?"
A pause, as if weighing whether to speak what came next. "I just finished work dinner." Lin breathed out softly. "I'm near your place."
Lin offered no further explanation, didn't elaborate as she normally would. She simply added, "Could you come and pick me up?" Her tone was carefully controlled, composed, doing its best to maintain dignity. Yet that brief hesitation and the quiet pitch of her voice betrayed a vulnerability rarely seen in her.
Yeh understood instantly. The words "Why don't you ask Jing to pick you up? "rose almost to her lips, but she forced them back. That would be too obvious.
"Where exactly are you?"
Lin sent over her the location. Yeh asked nothing more, grabbed her keys, and left home.
She arrived at Lin's location in less than ten minutes. The entrance of the bar was bright, crowded with people coming and going. Lin was leaning against the doorframe, still in high heels, though clearly struggling to keep her balance. She kept her head lowered, as if waiting, and lifted her head only at the sound of the car pulling up. The moment she saw Yeh, her eyes brightened noticeably.
"You came." Her voice was gentle, softened by visible relief.
As Yeh approached, she caught a faint, unmistakable scent of alcohol on her breath. "How much did you drink?"
"Not too much." Lin smiled faintly, her tone mushy and soft. "Meeting with brand clients… I ended up having a bit more than intended." She claimed she could stand steadily, yet swayed slightly where she stood—a slight disconnect between her words and her body that revealed how much effort she was exerting just to remain upright.
Looking at Lin's slender frame and that fragile, frayed state, Yeh was seized by an impulse to simply wrap her arms around her and hold her up. But she didn't. Instead, she reached out and steadied her by the arm. Lin naturally leaned part of her weight against her, offering no resistance, as if she had anticipated exactly this outcome.
Yeh guided her to the passenger seat, fastened her seatbelt, and closed the door. Silence settled inside the car. Lin leaned her head back against the seat, turned her face toward the window, and watched the lights of the streetlamps gliding past.
After several seconds, Lin spoke quietly. "I don't want to go home just yet." She paused, adding softly, "Could I… come up to your place for a little while?"
It sounded like a question, yet carried the weight of a tentative plea.
In the silence that followed, the air grew so still they could almost hear each other's breathing. Yeh's grip on the steering wheel tightened imperceptibly. She could say yes. She could let tonight become something different, could finally give release to all the feelings she had long suppressed and held back.
But she didn't.
"It's quite late now," Yeh said, her voice even and steady. "You should go home and rest properly."
She didn't look at Lin; her tone was almost gentle, as if she were truly considering her well‑being. Yet only she herself knew how clearly she had heard the wavering in her own heart in that moment.
Lin fell silent. She simply turned her head and watched Yeh's profile for a few seconds, before looking away again. "Alright." It was a single word, spoken so softly it seemed almost void of emotion.
They arrived at Lin's building shortly after. Yeh got out, walked around, and opened the door for her. Lin steadied herself on her feet but didn't leave immediately. She looked at Yeh as if there was something else she wanted to say, yet in the end, she said nothing at all.
"You can go now," Lin said.
"Okay." Yeh nodded, didn't linger a second longer, turned, and got back into the car.
When the door closed, the space sealed itself off completely. She didn't start the engine straight away. Her hands remained on the wheel, her knuckles tightening slowly. Only after several seconds did she breathe out deeply and drive away. She did not look back.
Lin stood where she was. The night breeze brushed over her, clearing her head slightly. She watched the car disappear around the corner and its lights fading into the distance.
At that moment, she felt a profound, inexplicable sense of helplessness. Not the disappointment of being rejected, but something deeper—the realisation that she had finally confirmed it: something precious was being slowly, deliberately taken back from her.