Yeh and Lin, stopped reaching for each other ever since.
Four days later, it was Yeh's birthday.
Yeh had already expected it—if she hadn't sent that simple happy birthday, Lin probably wouldn't either. Not out of symmetry, not as some silent tit-for-tat, but because something quieter had settled between them. A boundary that no longer needed to be discussed.
The day of Yeh's birthday passed without interruption. No notification. No message from that name.
Yeh wasn't surprised. She knew Lin might have forgotten. Or remembered—and decided it wasn't necessary.
They had only met twice. Everything between them still lived safely within the definition of collaborators. There was no reason to step beyond it.
Still, the project moved forward. The investors came through. Before long, everything was essentially confirmed.
It unfolded almost exactly as Yeh had outlined in the proposal she'd written for working with Lin's team.
She had already aligned with Fiona: all updates would go through her, passed on in a single, orderly channel.
So when Fiona posted in the group chat—
We're cleared to start. Let's go, ladies.
—it was simple. And yet it felt like a door being opened again, one that had only just been closed with care.
Yeh didn't reply right away. She didn't want to seem too eager.
Still, a quiet, irrational satisfaction rose in her heart—
as if the distance between her and Lin hadn't widened during these days of silence.
Everything was proceeding as planned.
More smoothly, even, than she had anticipated.
She couldn't help thinking: fate, when handled carefully, could be surprisingly cooperative.
As long as she stayed within bounds—kept things rational—she and Lin could continue to work together. Perhaps even remain friends.
When Lin saw the message, her eyes brightened, just a little.
She had expected delays, complications, maybe even a quiet collapse. Cross-team, cross-region projects rarely escaped friction.
But this one had gone through—cleanly.
She knew why.
Yeh was goal-oriented.
Yeh was that kind of person—once she decided on a direction, she moved things forward, step by step, without hesitation. Clear, controlled, impossible to derail.
Reliable.
Exactly the kind of partner you wanted.
Lin didn't message Yeh privately.
And Yeh didn't reach out either.
It felt like an unspoken agreement between them—
Keep the distance, and the path stays clear.
Cross no lines, and nothing breaks.
The group chat quickly filled with excitement: timelines, budgets, assignments. Messages stacked one after another, scrolling fast.
Yeh and Lin stayed silent, each on her own screen, playing their roles as nothing more than collaborators.
Only they knew—
this moment was more delicate than any private conversation could have been.
Because it meant one thing:
They were still moving forward on the same path.
They hadn't moved closer.
They hadn't stepped away.
And yet, they were still walking the same line.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
Just confirming, with the utmost restraint,
that neither of them had truly disappeared from the other's world.