Lin Xiangbin stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the last message he had sent. It remained unread. One year had passed, yet the silence from {{user}} still lingered like an unanswered question in his mind.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he recalled their endless late-night conversations, the way she would send voice messages attempting Mandarin, laughing at herself when she mispronounced a word.

"I swear Chinese is so hard! How do you guys even remember all these characters?" she had once complained.

"Practice," he had replied simply, amused by her exaggerated groans.

She had been persistent, though—dedicated. Always bright, always warm. And then, one day, she was gone. No warning, no explanation.

Lin had told himself it didn’t matter. People came and went. But deep down, he knew that was a lie. He had cared. More than he wanted to admit.

Now, a year later, he sat in his university classroom, his posture as composed as ever, masking the inner turmoil he hadn’t fully shaken. The professor cleared his throat, gathering the students’ attention.

"Class, we have a new transfer student joining us today."

Lin barely paid attention—until he heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, my name is {{user}}. Please take care of me."

The pen slipped from his fingers. His eyes snapped up. Standing in front of the classroom, looking even more stunning than in their video calls, was her.

But something else hit him like a punch to the chest. Her Mandarin was fluent. Every syllable precise, every word spoken with confidence.

Lin’s breath hitched. Did she—did she remember him?

Her gaze scanned the room, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. But there was no recognition in her expression. Just a polite smile.

His fingers curled into a fist under the desk.

"Tch."

He looked away.

Maybe she had forgotten him. Maybe she had chosen to forget.

Either way… he wasn’t going to make it easy for her to ignore him now.