Lin stopped reaching out to Yeh. It wasn't that she didn't want to, but for the first time, she deliberately forced herself to pause. Yeh's recent pattern of drawing near and then pulling away had left her confused, yet she had begun to sense that this wasn't just erratic mood swings, but a purposeful withdrawal—a boundary she couldn't quite see clearly, yet knew existed. She was tired of guessing, tired of moving forward only to be treated with silence. If Yeh was stepping back, she would simply stand still. She needed to see if by doing nothing at all, their connection would continue to grow, or if it would gradually come to a halt at this new distance.
So she poured all her energy into the production, filling her schedule to the brim with location shoots, meetings, revisions, and decisions, each task following the next without a moment to breathe. It felt as though she were trying to replace the emotions she should have been feeling with constant activity.
Meanwhile, Yeh began to notice a strange, unsettling emptiness where Lin used to be. It was as if Lin had simply vanished from her life.
After two weeks, Yeh found herself began to glance instinctively at her phone, waiting for a message that never arrived. Then came the moments when she would freeze mid‑work, her thoughts drifting uncontrollably: What is she doing? Is she feeling unwell? Has she taken enough rest lately? These questions arose without reason, and found no answer. She told herself over and over: As long as she's well, that's enough. No need to reach out, no need to know exactly Lin was doing. Yet the unease didn't fade away; However, it grew sharper under her attempts to suppress it, a thin thread constantly tugging at her heart.
Eventually, she asked Fiona to dinner, choosing the same Thai restaurant they had visited before. Everything was familiar—the lighting, the scent, the arrangement of tables and chairs—but it was precisely that familiarity that made it harder to keep her guard up or hide her true feelings. After ordering, Yeh spoke casually, as if the question had just occurred to her. "How… how has Lin been lately?"
Fiona looked up, a knowing smile playing openly on her lips. "I imagine she's doing fine." She paused, her tone turning deliberate and meaningful. "Aren't you two close friends? Why ask me?"
Yeh's chopsticks clinked softly against the edge of her bowl. She remained silent for a few seconds, carefully choosing her words.
"Did something happen between you two?" Fiona asked, clearly intrigued.
"Nothing at all," Yeh denied quickly, almost automatically. She paused, then added, as if trying to convince herself as much as Fiona, "It's just… I don't think we suit each other very well. It'd be better off stepping back sooner rather than later."
As she said it, she hesitated slightly, as if testing whether these were truly the words she meant to speak.
Fiona frowned, taken aback. "Not suited? But aren't you two like soulmates?"
Yeh kept her eyes lowered, her voice level and deliberately calm. "I think Jing is much better suited to her." She paused again, to let the reasoning sink in. "And besides… Jing is in love with her too."
This time, Fiona couldn't hold back. "Have you ever asked Lin how she feels?" Her voice rose in frustration. "Will you please stop making decisions for anyone else?"
Yeh froze, as if struck directly by the question.
"You come asking me about her because you clearly care about her," Fiona went on, "but while you care, you sit there running through scenarios in your head and end up with deciding everyone's fate for them." She looked straight at Yeh, her tone became serious and unvarnished. "You aren't just hurting yourself this way—you're making it miserable for everyone else involved."
Yeh fell silent. All the logic she had turned over and verified in her mind suddenly felt thin and fragile when viewed through someone else's eyes.
Fiona sighed, softening her tone. "Let me tell you something from experience: if you care about someone, you fight for them. But keep going like this, and you'll regret it later."
Before Yeh could reply, Fiona had already picked up her phone.
"I'll ask her."
"Don't—!" Yeh began, but the call was already connected.
"Hey Lin?" Fiona's tone was as casual as if she were making small talk. "We're at that Thai place we went to before. Have you eaten yet? Come join us if you haven't." She didn't leave room for hesitation, adding simply, "Yeh's here too." Then she ended the call crisply.
Yeh sat completely still, looking at Fiona with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and panic. "You…"
Fiona shrugged, smiling unapologetically. "I don't feel anything special about her, so I can say exactly what I want."
There was something about that freedom—the ability to speak without weighing every word, without holding back—that filled Yeh with an inexplicable envy for Fiona.
A few moments later, the restaurant door opened, and Lin walked in. Her gaze swept across the room before settling instantly on Yeh. Their eyes met, and Yeh's heart tightened with that old, familiar tension she hadn't felt in too long, the kind she was never quite prepared for.
Lin came over and sat down, her manner was relaxed and natural, as if this long silence between them had never existed. With Fiona there, the atmosphere quickly lightened; she ordered, chatted, and steered the conversation smoothly, effortlessly bringing warmth and ease back to the table. It was through their talk that Yeh learned Lin's recent absence was due to an unexpected new production that had kept her working around the clock.
Just as the mood was at its most relaxed, Fiona spoke up with a grin. "You know what? Yeh specifically asked me out today just so she could find out how you were doing."
It felt as though someone had pressed pause on the air around them.
"I did no such thing," Yeh denied instinctively, speaking far too fast.
Lin glanced at her—a soft look, yet one that seemed to understand everything unsaid. She smiled, a faint trace of weariness in it. "You could have just asked me directly." She tilted her head slightly. "You do have my number."
Yeh floundered. "Don't… listen to Fiona's nonsense. I asked her out for other reasons."
"Is that so?" Fiona said, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
Lin let the subject drop. She lifted her glass, turning it slowly between her fingers as if deep in thought. Then, suddenly, she spoke.
"Fiona."
"Yes?"
"Is Yeh always… this difficult to figure out?"
The question hung in the air, and Yeh froze completely.
Fiona blinked, then laughed. "She isn't like this with me." She looked between them, her tone was teasing and knowing. "Maybe you're just special to her."
A heavy silence fell. Yeh's face flushed instantly; she ducked her head like a child caught misbehaving, too flustered even to argue. She had never expected Lin to put it so plainly, even in such a gentle way.
She struggled to regain her composure. "I'm sorry… I've been a bit preoccupied lately." Her voice dropped lower. "I'll be more mindful in future."
She offered no explanation, and didn't elaborate further. Yet strangely, saying it out loudly seemed to lift a weight; she no longer had to force herself to maintain that cold distance.
She also realised then that these past days without Lin hadn't brought clarity, only confusion. Being close to Lin was what made her happy. She took a sip of water, quietly making up her mind: if it only stays at friendship… that's alright.
Yeh finally let go of the rigid rule she had held to for so long: never making friends with someone you love. As for where things might go from here… she would cross that bridge when she came to it.