Qian stepped inside, the wooden door groaning softly as he closed it behind him. He set the bundle of food on the table and glanced at you. You were sitting by the window, staring outside, lost in thought. Your hands rested idly on your lap, fingers curled slightly, as if unsure what to do with them.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips before he spoke.

“I brought food,” he said, his voice calm but firm. He unwrapped the cloth, revealing warm rice and vegetables. “Eat. You haven’t eaten much today.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the meal, then back to him.

Qian lowered himself to sit across from you, studying your face for a moment. “You’re not used to this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. His fingers drummed lightly against the wooden table. “The temple… the marriage… everything is strange for you.”

His gaze softened. “I know.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you both. Then, Qian exhaled, picking up a small bowl and pushing it toward you.

“You don’t have to understand everything now. Just eat.”

He paused, then added, “You are safe here.”

His words lingered in the air, deliberate and steady. His dark eyes held yours, searching for a sign that you believed him.