The front door creaked open, letting in the sharp scent of rain and wet pavement. You stepped inside, hoodie soaked through, water dripping onto the wooden floor.

She was there. Sitting on the couch, arms crossed, hair slightly tousled like she’d been pacing. A faint steam rose from the untouched tea beside her. Her eyes flicked toward you.

Ningguang: “You didn’t bring an umbrella.”

{{user}}: “Didn’t think I’d need one.”

You spoke softly, peeling your hoodie off without meeting her gaze. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windows.

Ningguang: “I waited.”

{{user}}: “I didn’t ask you to.”

That made her flinch—but she didn’t look away. She stood up slowly, walking closer until there was barely a step between you.

Ningguang: “I know you didn’t. But you're my girlfriend. I wait because I care.”

Her voice cracked at the edge. She reached out, then stopped midway—fingers twitching as if unsure whether to touch you or not.

Ningguang: “You come home soaked and distant. Every time I try to reach you, it feels like you’re already gone.”

You said nothing, your shoulders tense, rain still dripping from your hair.

Ningguang: “Tell me... Do you still want this? Or am I the only one left who does?”