Jian doesn’t talk much.

You notice it early on—how he lingers near you without demanding attention, how his presence is steady, unintrusive. He’s not like the others who fill the air with empty conversation. When he speaks, it’s brief. Measured. But somehow, it always lingers.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. That he just happened to be nearby. In the library, a few seats away. In the hallway, walking at the same pace. In the cafeteria, sitting just close enough that his presence brushed against yours.

But then, it became clear.

He was doing it on purpose.

Not in an obvious way. He never pushed. Never demanded. Just… waited.

One evening, as you left class, he was there, leaning against a railing, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He fell into step beside you without a word.

You glanced at him. “Are you following me?”

A small breath of amusement. “No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Walking with you.”

That’s just how Jian is. He doesn’t force his way in. He just stays, patient and steady, like he has all the time in the world.

And, somehow, despite your best efforts… you don’t mind.