Ming Ye watched her.
Zi Han sat across from him in a soft strawberry-print pajama set, the fabric light against her skin, the sleeves slightly too long so they slipped over her wrists each time she moved her hand to write. A loose strand of her dark hair had fallen over her cheek, and every now and then she would tuck it back absentmindedly, only for it to fall again a few seconds later.
He wasn't listening.
Not to the formulas. Not to the explanation. Not to the way her pen tapped lightly against the page as she worked through a problem.
His gaze lingered instead on her lips, the faint pink of them, soft and unguarded as they moved with quiet focus. When she spoke, there was a slight rhythm to her voice, calm but careful, like she was always choosing her words with precision. Her cheeks carried a natural flush, one that deepened whenever she got even a little flustered, and right now, under the warm lighting of his room, it made her look… softer than she should.
Too soft.
