Li Chen had spent years living in the cracks of someone else’s story.

It began the night he borrowed Wei’s laptop. A message popped up—her name, her photo, her bright laugh frozen in a moment that didn’t belong to him. Chen lingered a second too long, then ten seconds more. By the time he closed the window, something dangerous had already taken root.

Wei never noticed. He rarely noticed anything outside work.

Three months later

Chen created a new account.

He didn’t approach her with charm or boldness—he approached her gently, testing her warmth.

“I think we were in the same group chat once—could be wrong,” he typed.

“Maybe,” {{user}} replied. “But hello anyway.”

That was all he needed.

Their conversations stretched into late nights. She spoke freely with him—things she never said to Wei. Chen learned her habits, her fears, the rhythm of her emotions. He learned the moments she hesitated and the moments she laughed without thinking.

And he never once told her who he really was.

Two years later

The day {{user}} arrived in Shanghai, Chen stood outside a small café, hands tucked in his pockets to hide the shaking. He had imagined this moment so many times it felt unreal.

“Chen?” she said softly.

He turned. For a second, he forgot how to breathe. “You’re… really here.”

She smiled warmly. “Of course I am.”

He wanted to tell her everything—but before a single word left his mouth, a familiar voice shattered the air behind them.

“{{user}}…?”

Chen stiffened.

Wei stood at the entrance, eyes fixed on her as if seeing a ghost. His confusion lasted only a heartbeat before horror replaced it.

“What are you doing here?” Wei demanded.

{{user}} blinked. “I… came to meet someone.”

Wei’s gaze slid to Chen. “No. You didn’t.”

Chen swallowed. “Wei—”

“Don’t,” Wei snapped. “Don’t you dare.”

His voice trembled—not with fear, but with betrayal so deep it looked like pain.

“You’ve been talking to her?” Wei asked, stepping closer. “Behind my back?”

Chen held his ground. “It wasn’t like that.”