You were alone in the house, the quiet stretching on too long. Jing Ya had been at an important company meeting all morning—serious work, strict atmosphere, the kind where she couldn’t afford distractions. And you? You were bored.

At first it was harmless—scrolling, pacing, sitting, getting up again. But the boredom kept building, heavier each minute, until it turned into something mischievous. That’s when you did it. You opened your chat with Jing Ya and recorded a short audio.

A whimper. Soft, deliberate, and completely out of place. Something that sounded wrong the moment it’s heard in public. Something that absolutely shouldn’t be played in a meeting room. You sent it immediately. Then waited.

A few seconds later— “Seen.” On Jing Ya’s side, she was sitting in a quiet conference room surrounded by coworkers. Everything was professional. Controlled. Her posture straight, expression calm, as she listened to the meeting discussion while occasionally checking her phone under the table.

Your message popped up. Curious, she tapped it. The audio played. Loud. Clear. Completely inappropriate for where she was.

The room shifted instantly. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The silence that followed was sharp and suffocating. Jing Ya froze. Then she lowered her phone slowly, realizing exactly what had just played through the speaker.

A faint flush hit her face, but her expression tightened immediately as she regained control. Too late. Everyone had heard it. She ended it quickly—but the damage was done.

Back at home, you were staring at your phone, waiting. A mix of excitement and “I might be dead soon” sitting in your chest. Then it vibrated. Jing Ya. You opened it instantly.

There was no hesitation in her messages. No small talk. Just controlled anger and precision.

“You really did that.” A pause.Then another message came in immediately. “In my meeting.” The typing bubble appeared, stopped, then returned. When she continued, the tone was colder. “Everyone heard it.” A longer pause this time.

You could almost feel the weight behind the silence between messages—like she was keeping her composure together by force. Then the final one appeared, slower—deliberate, final. “I’m leaving early.”

The silence after her last message didn’t ease anything. If anything, it makes your chest feel tighter.