Chapter 78: What Do You Remember?

She stopped in front of Wen Wan Ning, so close that they could hear each other’s breathing.

Then, she gently took the water cup from her hand and placed it on the nearby table.

She didn’t speak, just looked at her with hazy yet persistent eyes. She reached out, her fingertip lightly brushing over Wen Wan Ning’s lips, as if confirming her existence.

This wasn’t a dream, not an illusion, not one of the countless fabricated reunions in the dead of night over the past five years.

Then, she leaned forward and, in the instant before Wen Wan Ning could react, gently kissed her.

A kiss laced with the scent of alcohol, trembling and clumsy.

Wen Wan Ning froze in place, her heart pounding like thunder.

Her hand still supported Shen Jia Yan’s arm, her fingertips burning, her mind a complete blank.

Shen Jia Yan’s lips were soft, carrying a slight tremble, as if testing, or perhaps bidding farewell.

She didn’t deepen it, just pressed lightly, like raindrops falling on parched earth, then slowly pulled back.

She still looked at her, eyes hazy, cheeks flushed hot, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I…” Her voice was soft, laced with drunkenness, yet unusually clear. “I just wanted to kiss you once.”

“If this is the last time, I’ll accept it.” With that, as if she’d exhausted all her strength, she gently leaned back onto the sofa and closed her eyes.

The night breeze slipped through the window cracks, tousling her hair and also stirring the deepest defenses in Wen Wan Ning’s heart.

She slowly crouched in front of Shen Jia Yan, gently cupping her face with both hands, her thumb wiping away the tear stains at the corner of her eye. Her voice was low and hoarse, almost inaudible. “I hope this isn’t the last time, but rather…”

She paused, her lips curving up slightly. “Our first time.”

After calming herself for a moment, she slowly stood straight, her fingertips still retaining the warmth of her cheeks.

She gently helped the shallowly sleeping Shen Jia Yan up from the sofa.

Shen Jia Yan shifted slightly in her arms, letting out a vague hum, her head naturally resting on her shoulder, her breathing warm and even.

Wen Wan Ning guided her into the bedroom, carefully laying her down, removing her outer jacket, wiping her face and hands, then pulling a thin blanket over her. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow on Shen Jia Yan’s face, fading the alcohol-induced flush and leaving only a childlike serenity.

She sat on the edge of the bed, quietly watching her.

Her eyelashes cast a small shadow under the light, her breathing steady and light, the corners of her mouth slightly relaxed—no longer the calm facade she wore on stage, in interviews, or in front of everyone.

Wen Wan Ning’s gaze fell on the corner of her eye, where a faint fine line lingered, almost invisible unless scrutinized. But she remembered: five years ago, there had been nothing there.

She reached out, her fingertip lightly tracing that line, like touching evidence etched by time.

You haven’t been doing well, have you?

She knew that over these five years, Shen Jia Yan must have been like her, replaying the past in countless late nights. One sealed it in music, the other suppressed it with reason. One hid pain in melodies, the other love in legal clauses.

She gently tucked a stray strand of hair from Shen Jia Yan’s forehead behind her ear.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, so softly only she could hear. “It’s my fault you’ve been hurting for so long.”

She slowly extended her hand, her fingertip trembling slightly as she laid it over the back of Shen Jia Yan’s hand, then little by little, gently enclosed her fingers in her palm.

Her palm burned hot, like cradling a beating heart.

“Jia Yan…” She called her softly, voice low and hoarse, laced with tenderness and plea. “Give me a chance—a chance for us to be together, for me to make it up to you, to myself, to our regrets. Okay?”

She gazed at Shen Jia Yan’s sleeping profile, moonlight spilling through the curtain gaps, outlining her soft contours.

She remembered how her eyes curved into crescents when she smiled, how she bit her lip in concentration while writing songs, how she closed her eyes while drumming.

And now, finally, she could stop just watching from afar.

“I know I’m five years late.” Her voice was light, but each word clear, like reciting a belated vow. “This time, I won’t run away again.”

She lowered her head, gently pressing her cheek to the back of Shen Jia Yan’s hand.

“If you need me to prove it, I’m willing. If you need me to wait, I can do that too.”

“But please, don’t push me away again.”

The room was very quiet, filled only with Shen Jia Yan’s even breathing and the occasional whisper of wind outside.

Wen Wan Ning received no response.

But she knew some words didn’t need an immediate answer.

She could wait, and she was willing to—just as Shen Jia Yan had waited for her unconditionally back then.

She leaned down, planting the lightest kiss on Shen Jia Yan’s forehead, like a feather falling, like a reply five years overdue.

Then, she gently rose, drew the curtains properly, turned off the lamp, and left only a small nightlight glowing quietly in the darkness.

Before closing the door, she glanced back one last time, a faint curve on her lips. “Good night, Jia Yan.”

The next morning.

Shen Jia Yan felt a splitting headache, as if countless needles pierced back and forth in her temples. She slowly opened her eyes, vision blurry, consciousness still floating between dream and reality.

Sunlight filtered through the curtain gaps, casting a bright band across the floor. The room was quiet, holding only her faint breathing.

She shifted, realizing she still wore last night’s clothes, though her jacket was neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and a soft thin blanket covered her.

She propped herself up, head spinning dizzily.

She glanced around, rubbing her head in confusion. “Where is this?”

Memories from last night flooded in fragments.

The dinner, baijiu, Wen Wan Ning taking her out for air… Everything after that was blank.

She knocked her head lightly. “Damn, what kind of tolerance is this? Two small glasses of baijiu and I blacked out.”

She hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself in front of her.

Just then, a soft sound came from outside the door, followed by the light clink of a cup on the table. Wen Wan Ning entered with a steaming cup of tea. She wore casual home clothes, her hair slightly tousled, faint fatigue under her eyes, yet her gentleness shone through.

“You’re awake?” She kept her voice soft. “Drink this.” She extended the cup slightly. “It’s ginger tea with honey. It’ll help with the hangover.”

Shen Jia Yan stared at her in a daze, her heart skipping a beat.

She tried to act nonchalant, but her fingertips trembled faintly.

“Thanks.” She took the cup, blowing on the steam, avoiding her eyes. “Where am I right now?”

“At my place.”

Wen Wan Ning’s voice remained gentle, yet it rippled through Shen Jia Yan’s foggy mind like a stone in water. Her hands trembled slightly around the cup, steam rising to blur her vision and her attempted composure.

“You drank too much last night. We didn’t know your door code, so I brought you back here.” Wen Wan Ning sat on the bed’s edge, not too close, not too far—close enough for Shen Jia Yan to catch that familiar faint lavender scent on her.

Shen Jia Yan took a sip of the ginger tea. “Thanks, sorry for the trouble.”

“So… did I…” Her voice was dry, tinged with barely detectable panic as she probed. “Say anything, or do anything weird?”

Wen Wan Ning looked at her, a faint smile flickering in her eyes. “What do you remember?”

Hearing that, unease surged in Shen Jia Yan’s heart.

She must have said something.

She rummaged through the memory fragments: wind, terrace, Wen Wan Ning’s shoulder…

But after that, nothing.

“I remember getting drunk, you taking me to the restaurant’s outdoor patio for air, and then…” She racked her brain, brow furrowing with no success. “I don’t remember anything else.”

Wen Wan Ning’s fingers tightened on the bedsheet.

She remembered none of what came after.

She didn’t remember choking out “I missed you so much”; didn’t remember trembling as she touched her lips; didn’t remember that line “I just wanted to kiss you once”; and certainly not that alcohol-scented, clumsy, scorching kiss.

She’d forgotten it all.

Wen Wan Ning’s chest tightened slightly, as if gently squeezed.

Not disappointment, but heartache.

Heartache that she liked her so much yet didn’t even have the right to remember; heartache that she needed drunkenness as an excuse to voice that long-buried “I missed you”; heartache that even a kiss required “being drunk” to happen.

But she didn’t reveal it.

She just quietly watched her, seeing the anxiety and unease in her eyes, the way she pretended to be calm despite her fear.

Suddenly, she smiled—a light smile, like morning light breaking through clouds, very gentle.

“You didn’t do anything weird.” She said softly. “After I brought you home, you just fell asleep.”

Shen Jia Yan let out a breath of relief, cheeks flushing faintly. “Ah, that’s good. I thought maybe I…”

“You thought what?” Wen Wan Ning pressed.

“I…” She faltered. “Nothing.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, sunlight slowly shifting across the floor, like time itself whispering.

Shen Jia Yan fiddled with the blanket corner, fingertips unconsciously tracing the fabric’s texture. She felt relieved, yet inexplicably empty.

As if she was supposed to remember something.

As if she’d missed something.

But she had forgotten.

Wen Wan Ning composed herself and rose, saying gently, “Finish the ginger tea and come for breakfast. Your stomach must be upset from last night’s drinking.”

Shen Jia Yan gripped the cup with both hands and quickly called after her as she headed out. “No need to trouble yourself. Staying over one night was already a bother. I’ll get up now, borrow your bathroom to freshen up, and head out.”

Wen Wan Ning’s steps halted.

She didn’t turn immediately, just stood in the doorway, sunlight outlining her profile like a painting sealed by time.

After a moment, she slowly turned, her calm gaze settling on Shen Jia Yan.

“Leave?” She asked softly, voice light but like a thin thread tightening around her heart. “In such a hurry?”

Shen Jia Yan froze, fingertips clenching slightly.

She didn’t want to leave; she just didn’t dare stay, couldn’t stay.

“I… the band has practice.” She looked down, voice growing smaller, not even convincing herself.

Wen Wan Ning didn’t press further, just walked back and sat gently on the bed’s edge.

“Jia Yan, do you… hate me now?” Her voice was soft, yet it cracked the morning’s tranquility like a fissure.