“Jia Yan, do you… hate me?” Her voice was very soft, yet it sliced through the morning tranquility like a crack.
So distant, so polite, as if she couldn’t bear to stay even one more second.
Hate? How could Shen Jia Yan hate her? She was the person Shen Jia Yan had loved so fiercely in her youth, the one she thought of during every sleepless night over the past five years, the hidden rhyme in the songs she wrote, the one she longed to love but could never reach…
Shen Jia Yan suddenly looked up and met Wen Wan Ning’s eyes.
Those eyes, always calm and composed as if they could see through every clause of law and every human heart, were now filled with a vulnerability she had never seen before—like the sky hanging low before a storm, heavy enough to make her chest ache.
She wanted to go over and hug her, to tell her that she didn’t hate her, not one bit, to tell her that she liked her so much, just as she had five years ago, with feelings that hadn’t diminished at all.
But she couldn’t.
She didn’t like herself— what use was her own intense affection?
It would only trouble her, maybe even disgust her.
Shen Jia Yan didn’t want to become a clingy ex in Wen Wan Ning’s life, a burden sustained by memories and emotional blackmail.
If she couldn’t be her lover, she didn’t want to become someone she hated.
So she just shook her head gently, as if using all her strength, and said softly, “I don’t hate you. I’m just… afraid of troubling you.”
“You’re not troubling me.” Wen Wan Ning’s voice suddenly softened. “We’re friends. You’ve stayed over at my place for a night; it’s only right that I prepare breakfast.” She tried to keep her with a more reasonable excuse.
She spoke calmly, as if stating a perfectly natural fact.
But the word “friends” pricked Shen Jia Yan’s heart like a fine needle.
So, in Wen Wan Ning’s eyes, that’s all they were now—friends who could stay over and share breakfast.
Yes, they were just two people whose edges had been worn smooth by time: one a lawyer, one a band member, politely parting ways after the case ended.
She lowered her head, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing the warmth of the ginger tea cup. Her voice was as soft as a murmur, “Okay, thank you.”
Those two words felt like ice water poured over Wen Wan Ning’s head.
Still so polite, so distant.
As if shoving last night’s terrace breeze, the warmth on her shoulder, and that “I missed you so much” back into the boundaries of “reason.”
Wen Wan Ning pressed her lips together and walked to the door, her fingertips lightly tapping the doorframe as if to pin down some emotion.
She turned and pointed to the door next to the bedroom door, her voice calm to the point of coldness. “That’s the bathroom. I’ve put a new toothbrush and cup on the sink. Call me if you need anything.”
With that, she turned and left the bedroom, her steps light but carrying a faint stiffness.
Shen Jia Yan frowned slightly, sensing the shift in Wan Ning’s tone.
Was she… angry?
She didn’t think she’d done anything inappropriate.
Unable to figure it out, she simply stopped thinking about it. She got up and folded the blanket meticulously, as if that could tidy up her chaotic emotions.
She quietly took in Wen Wan Ning’s bedroom.
The room was very quiet, with sunlight slanting across the light gray carpet like a thin mist. On the bedside table sat a warm desk lamp next to an open copy of Copyright Law, its pages filled with dense annotations.
The bookshelf by the window was neatly lined with legal books, but in the most prominent spot sat a lone old-model voice recorder pen.
Its black body was worn, the metal clip slightly discolored.
Shen Jia Yan’s heart jolted.
Was this the birthday gift she’d given her that night she confessed?
She’d thought that voice recorder pen had long been discarded, buried by time like her fruitless feelings.
Why would she keep a gift carrying such “mistaken” emotions?
Or maybe Wen Wan Ning had bought a similar one for work recordings.
Lawyers needed to record things; it was normal.
This one probably wasn’t that one anymore.
But Shen Jia Yan’s hand reached out uncontrollably anyway.
Just as her fingers touched the body, she pulled back.
She was afraid.
Afraid that pressing play would reveal only work recordings. She knew she shouldn’t hope, but she couldn’t help hoping.
Forget it. Better to hold onto a bit of fantasy than face reality.
She turned and went into the bathroom, hoping cold water would wash away her tangled thoughts.
On the sink, toothpaste was already squeezed onto a soft-bristled toothbrush—mint flavor, her usual one—and the cup held warm water.
Was she this thoughtful to every overnight “friend”?
Suddenly, she thought of Han Yuchu. If they were really together, he’d be so happy.
That boy Wen Wan Ning had admitted to liking would eat the breakfast she carefully prepared, use the toothpaste she’d squeezed for him, and wake in the morning to her gentle profile.
While she, Shen Jia Yan, was just an old acquaintance borrowing a night, an intruder muddled by alcohol and memories.
She stared at her reflection—bloodshot eyes, hangover traces, that faint smile at her lips now so out of place.
She scooped up cold water and splashed it harshly on her face, trying to douse the unwarranted delusions in her heart.
After a simple wash-up, she went out.
Wen Wan Ning was setting breakfast on the table.
She walked over immediately. “Let me help with something.”
Wen Wan Ning placed two pairs of chopsticks on the bowls, her movements natural as if they’d shared countless mornings like this. “No need, it’s all ready. Sit down and eat.”
“Okay.” Shen Jia Yan sat.
The porridge was warm and soft, the side dishes crisp, the fried egg perfectly done.
This was her first time eating Wen Wan Ning’s cooking, and it was delicious.
Her thoughts drifted uncontrollably again.
Whoever ended up with Wen Wan Ning, she’d be insanely jealous.
The one who could eat her breakfast every day, wake to her sleepy eyes in the morning,
the one who could naturally enter her life and occupy her gaze…
She didn’t dare think about it. The mere thought gripped her heart painfully, making her nearly drop her chopsticks.
She lowered her head, sipping porridge and chewing mechanically, the food tasteless.
After breakfast, Wen Wan Ning stood to clear the dishes.
“I’ll help.” Shen Jia Yan stood too.
“Okay.” Wen Wan Ning smiled faintly. “I’ll wash; you bring the dishes to the kitchen.”
“Mm.” Shen Jia Yan nodded.
Wen Wan Ning turned on the faucet and rinsed a porridge bowl. Her bangs were blocking her view, so she said softly to Shen Jia Yan as she entered, “Jia Yan.”
“Mm.”
She turned her head. “Can you tuck this fallen bang behind my ear? My hands are wet.”
“Oh, oh, sure.” Shen Jia Yan set down the plate, grabbed a tissue from nearby, and carefully wiped her hands.
It should have been a perfectly ordinary gesture. Friends, colleagues, even strangers might do it casually.
But with Wen Wan Ning, everything changed.
She stepped closer. Wen Wan Ning was rinsing dishes, water pattering, morning light slanting in from the window onto her lowered profile. A soft strand of bangs had indeed slipped down, brushing her slightly damp cheek.
Shen Jia Yan took a deep breath and lifted her trembling fingertips.
She gently pinched the strand and inevitably brushed Wen Wan Ning’s earlobe.
That patch of skin flushed faintly pink, and her own ear tips burned too.
She slowly tucked the hair behind her ear, but just as her fingertips were about to withdraw, Wen Wan Ning tilted her head slightly, her earlobe grazing Shen Jia Yan’s fingertip.
In that instant, it was like an electric current surged through.
Shen Jia Yan’s hand froze mid-air, her breath catching.
Wen Wan Ning didn’t turn, just kept washing dishes, the water still running, but the flush spread from behind her ear to her neck.
“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, nearly drowned by the water.
“Y-you’re welcome.” Shen Jia Yan hastily withdrew her hand, her fingertips still holding the warmth of her skin, her heart pounding as if to burst from her chest.
She turned to leave.
“Jia Yan.” Wen Wan Ning stopped her.
“Mm?”
Wen Wan Ning cleaned the last bowl and said softly while washing her hands, “One more thing.”
Shen Jia Yan turned back to her side. “What?”
Wen Wan Ning placed the bowl in the drainer and said, “Can you add me back on WeChat?”
Shen Jia Yan froze.
WeChat… add back.
She remembered that night five years ago that had broken her.
In her most vulnerable moment, when she needed someone most, when she’d mustered the courage to ask, “Can you stay with me a bit?” and been refused…
She’d deleted and blocked all her contacts.
With her last shred of dignity, she’d severed all possible entanglements.
“Why?” Her voice was soft, like probing a wound hidden for five years.
Wen Wan Ning was stunned.
She’d imagined Shen Jia Yan might accept or refuse outright, but never that she’d ask “why.”
Why?
Because she’d thought of her every day for five years, wanted to contact her constantly, but every time she opened that profile and hovered over “add friend,” her finger wouldn’t press.
She was afraid.
Afraid of disturbing her peaceful life; afraid of reopening wounds she didn’t want touched; afraid she was no longer an “important person” in her world, just an abrupt intruder.
So she’d approached only as a “lawyer,” taking her case, handling her copyright issues, staying close in the most restrained way.
But she wasn’t content with just a professional relationship. She wanted her back.
Wanted to share her smiles when happy, wipe her tears when sad, say “I’m listening” when she wrote songs late at night…
Adding her back on WeChat wasn’t for work or the case. It was to openly, rightfully, reenter her life.
