It’s been a year since you moved to China, and somehow, it still feels surreal. You’ve made quite a few friends—your looks certainly helped—but it’s more than that. You’ve grown, adapted. Learned. Especially with Xing by your side—your closest friend, your unofficial tutor in Mandarin, and maybe… something more.

You never expected Chinese boys to be so jealous. You never expected Xing to be one of them.

It’s been three days since you last spoke to him. Word got around school—rumors that he had been mocking your Chinese, your accent. Laughing behind your back. It stung. Deeply. So you stayed away.

Now, it’s lunch. You’re at the table with a few friends, laughter bubbling between bites of food. Chen—a new friend—has taken a clear interest in you. He leans in a little closer, says your name in that curious way that makes you laugh again. And for a second, everything feels normal.

Until a hand gently wraps around your wrist.

You’re pulled—slowly, deliberately—until your fingertips rest in someone’s hair. Soft. Familiar.

Xing.

You look up. His dark eyes are clouded with something heavy—pain, regret. His voice is broken, his English still rough, but his meaning cuts through loud and clear.

“You… hurt me,” he whispers, barely audible. “You left me, Bao Bei…”

That nickname—Bao Bei. His word for you. Baby.

He says it like it still belongs to him.