It was halfway through dinner when Lin began to notice something was off about Yeh.
Not in any obvious way. Nothing disruptive, nothing impolite. The conversation flowed, laughter came at the right moments, everything looked exactly as it should.
Except—
Yeh was too quiet.
She wasn't outgoing by nature, but she was never absent. Usually, she listened, observed, and stepped in only when it mattered. A few words, always precise.
Tonight, she barely stepped in at all.
Lin first caught it when Eric told a joke.
Everyone laughed. She did too. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yeh—just a faint curve of her lips before she lowered her gaze and reached for her food.
The movement was natural.
But restrained.
Not disinterest. More like she had deliberately pulled herself back.
After that, Lin paid closer attention without making it obvious.
Yeh ate little. Spoke less. Her gaze rarely lingered, especially not on Lin. It was as if she had reduced her presence to the exact level where she wouldn't be noticed.
The shift was subtle. Easy to miss, if you weren't looking for it.
But Lin noticed.
This wasn't fatigue.
It was a choice.
Without meaning to, she made a comparison.
It reminded her—slightly—of how Yeh used to watch her with Jing. That quiet observation, that careful reading of their interaction. But this was different.
As if Yeh had already stepped away.
The thought made her pause.
A few possibilities crossed her mind. Tired? Distracted? Something else?
She didn't let herself go further.
She remembered what Yeh had said.
"In real life, I don't like women."
The sentence lingered like a boundary—clear, deliberate. It closed off too many interpretations before they could form.
Still, Lin didn't ignore what she had seen.
From that point on, she adjusted her behavior. She spoke less with Eric. Let conversations end where they could have continued. Pulled her tone back, just slightly. The change was subtle—nothing anyone else would question.
At one point, as a topic wrapped up, she glanced toward Yeh.
The glance went unanswered.
Yeh was looking down, lifting her glass, as if she hadn't noticed—no intention of stepping in.
For a brief second, something flickered in Lin's chest.
Light. Fleeting.
Gone before it could settle.
She didn't look again.
When dinner ended, people drifted apart and back together in loose patterns. Lin stayed in the middle, keeping an even distance from everyone.
She knew Yeh was a step behind.
She didn't turn back.
Because if she did, she would have to admit something—
that she cared.
Back in her room, she lay in the dark, wide awake.
She replayed the night.
Yeh's quiet.
Yeh's distance.
The way she had stood at the edge during goodbyes, careful, composed.
Individually, they meant nothing.
Together, they formed something harder to name.
Lin didn't reach a conclusion.
But she allowed herself one acknowledgment—
Yeh's reaction to her was more complicated than she had assumed.
She didn't text Yeh.
Not because she didn't want to ask, but because she refused to make herself unnecessary. And she wouldn't cross a line that had already been drawn.
If Yeh was just tired, asking would only intrude.
If she wasn't, then Yeh had her reasons.
What Lin didn't know—
was that while she was hesitating over whether to move closer,
Yeh had already made the decision for both of them.
To step back.Before anything slipped out of control.