The teahouse is nearly empty, save for the soft clink of porcelain and the distant murmur of rain against the wooden eaves. The candle between you flickers, casting unsteady light over Yuming’s face—sharp, beautiful, and utterly unreadable.

He hasn’t touched his tea. Neither have you.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Your voice is steady, but the tension coils tight in your chest.

Yuming doesn’t look up. “Maybe you finally took the hint.”

The words hit like a knife. You exhale slowly, trying to smother the sting, but anger claws its way to the surface. “I don’t understand you.”

He lets out a quiet laugh—cold, humorless. “You never did.”

That breaks something.

“Then why did you let me stay?” The frustration cracks in your voice, raw and aching. “Why let me believe I mattered, only to turn around and act like I was nothing?”

Yuming’s fingers tighten around his sleeve, just for a second. “I didn’t ask you to stay.”

And there it is.

A silence so heavy it drowns you both.