Chapter 50: This Silent Distance Might Change…

In the days without contact, Shen Jia Yan could only quietly seek traces of Wen Wan Ning through other social apps.

She wouldn’t like or comment, and even when she occasionally tapped into her profile, she only allowed herself to linger for ten seconds, afraid that any action might disturb the other’s life.

Yet she still couldn’t help but look.

She saw her Moments posts—sparse captions paired with a photo of a quiet library corner: “So tired today, but finally finished.”

She silently repeated the words in her heart, wondering if she had stayed up late again, if she had eaten properly.

She saw her occasional Weibo updates, reposting a gentle sentence with the addition, “Lately, I’ve been liking the quiet.”

Shen Jia Yan sat on the edge of her bed in Dormitory 406, staring at that Weibo post for a long, long time until the screen automatically locked.

She even downloaded the long-unused Xiaohongshu just to check if Wen Wan Ning had updated any daily life shares. When she saw her post about a newly bought cup of milk tea tagged “moderate sweetness,” the corners of Shen Jia Yan’s mouth unconsciously curved into a slight smile.

She still liked milk tea with a third sugar, after all.

She missed her so much.

Her absence didn’t mean she didn’t care; it just meant that this time, she had learned not to disturb.

She knew Wen Wan Ning needed space and was working hard to sort out her own heart, so she didn’t send private messages or leave comments. She simply tucked all traces of her deep into her heart.

Seeing that Shen Jia Yan hadn’t gone out at her usual time to make calls for a long while, Xu Jingyao harbored some uneasy guesses. Though she didn’t want to upset Shen Jia Yan by bringing it up, after holding back for several days, she couldn’t anymore. Concerned, she asked, “Jia Yan, you and Wan Ning lately…”

Shen Jia Yan understood what she meant. She lowered her head and forced a smile. “Lately, she’s been really busy and hasn’t had time to contact.”

“Jia Yan.” Xu Jingyao could see her sadness and said softly, “Here at school, we’re your closest people. You can tell us anything.”

Shen Jia Yan let out a light sigh. “It’s nothing, really. I just feel like she’s noticed that I like her, and now… she’s keeping her distance from me a bit.”

Xu Jingyao looked at Shen Jia Yan’s downcast eyes, feeling as if something gently weighed on her heart.

She knew how deeply Shen Jia Yan hid this affection— so deep that even she herself hesitated to touch it easily. But hearing her say outright, “She’s keeping her distance from me,” those light words landed heavily, making it hard to breathe.

“You’re… sure she’s noticed?” Xu Jingyao asked tentatively, her tone laced with reluctance.

Shen Jia Yan nodded, her smile strained and bitter. “She’s not the type to deliberately ignore someone’s feelings. If it were just ordinary friends, she wouldn’t pull away on purpose.”

She paused, her voice soft as if afraid to disturb something. “She’s started avoiding me.”

“We used to talk every day, and even if busy, she’d send a message. Now, it takes days for a reply, always explained as ‘too busy lately.’ She doesn’t spell it out or reject me, but she’s stepped back.”

Xu Jingyao felt a pang of sourness in her heart.

She wanted so badly to curse fate’s unfairness for Shen Jia Yan or comfort her that “she’ll come around,” but she knew those words were too light for Shen Jia Yan right now.

“What about you, then?” she couldn’t help asking. “Have you tried saying something to her?”

Shen Jia Yan gave a wry smile. “What could I say? That I like her and don’t want her to avoid me? Or that I hope she won’t deny these feelings because of gender?” Her voice was soft, carrying deep helplessness and exhaustion.

“I don’t want to pressure her. I can feel she doesn’t have zero feelings for me; she’s just not ready to accept them yet.”

The air fell quiet for a few seconds, filled only with the sound of wind rustling leaves outside the window.

Xu Jingyao looked at her like that and suddenly felt an overwhelming ache.

She had seen Shen Jia Yan’s earnest and diligent side—giving up a newly signed-up club just to talk to Wen Wan Ning daily, rushing out at any hour to deliver medicine so she could take it on time, even enduring her growing distance by repeatedly telling herself, “It’s okay, I can wait,” all to avoid pressuring her.

She loved Wen Wan Ning so much, yet she always guarded that affection so carefully, afraid of scaring her away.

Xu Jingyao gazed at Shen Jia Yan, her tone gentle with a hint of heartache. “You’re really… too accommodating to her.”

Shen Jia Yan sat on the bed’s edge, her gaze fixed on the tree shadows outside the window. Her eyes were calm, as if lost in no particular thought, but only she knew the storm raging inside.

“It’s not accommodating,” she said softly, her voice light yet exceptionally firm. “I just don’t want to make things hard for her.” She paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I’m willing to give her more time.”

Xu Jingyao fell silent for a moment before suddenly asking, “What about you? Have you thought about yourself?”

Shen Jia Yan was momentarily stunned.

“I’ve always known I like her,” she said. “And I’ve always known that in this relationship, the one with it easiest isn’t her—it’s me.”

“I’m not afraid to wait, or for her to take it slow. Because she’s worth waiting for, worth me loving with all I have.” Her tone was calm, yet it held a nearly stubborn gentleness.

She wasn’t without sadness, nor had she never considered giving up.

But every time she recalled Wen Wan Ning’s smile toward her, heard her say “thank you,” or even just a simple greeting, she would tell herself once more: It’s okay, I can wait a little longer.

“I don’t need her to respond right away,” Shen Jia Yan continued, her eyes earnest and soft. “I just want her to know that no matter when she’s ready, I’ll be here.”

The words were light, yet they weighed heavy enough to sting the nose.

Xu Jingyao looked at her and somewhat understood why Wen Wan Ning hesitated.

Shen Jia Yan’s love was too deep, too steady—like a mountain, like a river, flowing silently through her world without force or clamor, yet omnipresent.

It wasn’t a lack of courage; it was too much love.

So she was willing to wait, to stand guard, to hide all her emotions behind a smile, just so Wen Wan Ning wouldn’t feel pressured.

In that moment, Xu Jingyao suddenly envied Wen Wan Ning a little. Because she was loved so carefully by someone.

And that someone, who could have better options, wanted only her.

Night deepened, and the campus shadows had long dispersed, leaving only mottled tree silhouettes under the streetlights and the occasional passing breeze.

Behind the bed curtain, Shen Jia Yan leaned against the headboard, quietly scrolling through her phone.

She opened Weibo and tapped into that familiar profile avatar.

After browsing for a bit, she suddenly noticed that nearly every recent post from Wen Wan Ning had comments from the same person, and their interactions were frequent.

Her heart skipped a slow beat.

At first, she had just habitually checked Wen Wan Ning’s Weibo to see her recent state, any new updates, if something small had made her happy or worried.

But as she scrolled down, she saw the stranger account’s comments—lighthearted, teasing, with a familiar closeness—and Wen Wan Ning’s replies were always prompt, even using emojis sometimes, as if they chatted amiably.

This wasn’t ordinary netizen interaction.

She tapped into the stranger account’s profile.

The avatar was a basketball court silhouette, the page filled with workout check-ins and band performance photos. The latest post from yesterday: [Anyone up for the new movie?] with a photo of two tickets.

Wen Wan Ning had replied below: [Save the ticket stub for me to collect~] followed by a cute emoji Shen Jia Yan had never received.

The screen’s glow flickered on her face. She mechanically scrolled down, uncovering more traces.

Last month’s sunset photo from Wen Wan Ning: the guy commented, “Next time, I’ll take you to a better spot.” Last week’s song share: he instantly replied, “Send me the playlist.” Even three days ago, when she casually complained about cafeteria food, he shot back, “Next time, I’ll take you to an amazing place to make up for it”…

Shen Jia Yan’s fingertip hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.

She had never seen Wen Wan Ning speak to others in that tone—the coquettish lilt, the lively emojis, even those offhand promises—all like a dull knife slowly slicing her heart.

She had considered this possibility.

After all, Wen Wan Ning had chosen distance, and she was trying to respect it.

But she hadn’t thought this silent distance might become an opening for someone else to draw near.

She felt her heart slowly sinking, like a stone dropping into a lake, rippling outward.

She set down the phone, leaned against the headboard, stared at the ceiling—her heartbeat slow and heavy.

Her fingers still held the warmth from scrolling, but her heart felt hollowed out bit by bit.

She closed her eyes, and warm liquid slid down her cheek.

But just as her heart neared the abyss, reason quietly returned.

She remembered what kind of person Wen Wan Ning was.

She wasn’t one to casually reciprocate affection, nor to distance one person while hastily approaching another.

She was gentle but not perfunctory; sincere but never deceitful. When she liked someone, she kept it quietly hidden until she was truly sure she could respond.

Shen Jia Yan opened her eyes, gazing at the ceiling as her heartbeat slowed but steadied.

She couldn’t give up like this.

She couldn’t conclude from a few comments that Wen Wan Ning had chosen someone else.

She had to ask her herself.

She picked up her phone, stared at Wen Wan Ning’s chat interface, hesitated for seconds, then slowly typed: [Wan Ning, got time? Can we talk?]

She didn’t mention the guy or ask if she liked someone now.

She simply sent out a gentle invitation to the truth.

After sending, she didn’t set the phone down but gripped it tightly, as if it were her last shred of courage.