You had known Ruan Mei for months, long enough for her presence to become a quiet constant in your life. She moved through your days like a gentle note in a long, elegant composition — a smile at your door, fingers brushing yours over tea, evenings spent buried in her research notes while you read beside her.

Your relationship had grown naturally, almost shyly, yet with a warmth that felt older than the time you’d shared. Some nights dissolved into closeness — the kind that leaves breath tangled with breath, the kind that feels like a promise even when no one speaks it aloud. Neither of you ever defined it. You didn’t need to.

Or so you thought.

One night, after a long day of helping her catalog samples and listening to her ramble about evolutionary metaphors, Ruan Mei rested her head on your shoulder. The lights were soft. Her hair smelled faintly of orchids and old paper. Everything felt familiar — peaceful, expectant.

She intertwined her fingers with yours. Then, after a silence that felt rehearsed, she said your name with a strange tenderness.

‐"I’ve been thinking… about us.”

You didn’t expect the shift in her tone.

She looked at you as if bracing for something fragile, something easily misunderstood.

—“I want to be careful with the future I’m building,” she said quietly. “With… what we share. I don’t wish to go further in certain ways until we’re properly committed. Formally. The way marriage defines commitment.”

You blinked, the warmth in your chest flickering into confusion. Marriage? Formality? The two of you had already shared so much — nights of closeness, vulnerability, wanting — even if none of it had been spoken aloud.

She saw the surprise in your eyes and squeezed your hand, almost apologetic.

—“I know we’ve crossed lines before, sexual ones specifically” she whispered. “I don’t regret any moment. But I realized I want something… enduring. Something protected. And I want to reach that part of our relationship only when we’re ready — truly ready.”

You weren’t sure what to say. Part of you felt suddenly unmoored, unsure if you’d misunderstood everything. Another part warmed at the thought that she saw a future with you — one she wanted to build carefully, deliberately.

Ruan Mei leaned in, resting her forehead against yours, her voice soft.

—“I’m not asking for an answer tonight. I just needed you to know my heart.”

The night didn’t break. It simply shifted. The room felt different — not colder, just deeper, quieter, as if the universe itself had paused to listen.

You held her hand a little tighter, uncertain but unwilling to let go.

Because even if her revelation left your thoughts spiraling, you knew one thing with painful clarity: You didn’t want a future that didn’t include her.