Chapter BGM:"Sweet" by Cigarettes After Sex(For bun-up hair, dry-cleaned shirts, and memories no one ever talks about—but never forgets.)
—
Celeste double-checked the time and place she had arranged to meet Nolan. After sending the message, she finally began getting ready—slowly, but with a hint of anticipation tugging at her lips.
She tied her chestnut-red hair into a high bun and stood in front of the mirror, pretending to inspect it casually. The truth? That effortless look took twenty minutes of trial and error.
Celeste didn't usually dress up just to return someone's laundry. But today felt... different.
A touch of soft makeup, a natural lip tint, and glowing skin—her reflection looked like wind-kissed laurel leaves caught in a ray of light. She smirked at herself, a hint of playful pride in her eyes. "Not bad. I'd totally date me."
Across town, Nolan was also preparing.
He gave his bodyguard a short, casual command. "Take the day off, Mai. I've got this."
Then he swung a leg over his red BMW motorcycle and took off, a streak of velocity against the morning calm.
By the time Celeste arrived at the food street, Nolan was already there.
And honestly—how could she have missed him?
The red BMW motorcycle gleamed in the sun. He had just taken off his helmet, his brown, tousled hair swaying lightly in the breeze. Light spilled across his sharp features, casting him in the kind of effortless glow only seen in magazine spreads.
He stood on the curb, tall and poised, dressed in minimalistic yet perfectly tailored casualwear. He looked like he belonged in a magazine. Passersby slowed, whispered, some even took pictures.
He didn't seem to notice—didn't seem to care.
"Morning," he said softly, voice as clear as melted snow.
"Morning," Celeste replied with a grin, holding up a dry-cleaning bag. "Your clothes. I had them handled with the level of care reserved for Milan Fashion Week."
As he took the bag, his fingers brushed hers—briefly—but long enough for him to notice her pale pink nail polish. And with it, came a memory.
It was the summer they returned from Canada.
That night, he was dropping Jett off when he saw her.
She stood in the courtyard under a full moon, wearing a white shirt and wide-legged pants, hair loose over her shoulders. Two German Shepherds sat quietly beside her.
"Sit," she commanded gently. The dogs obeyed, and she stroked their heads with a kind of tender certainty.
Then she looked up at the sky.
Something about her expression—peaceful, luminous—caught him off guard.
She didn't wear makeup. She wasn't trying to impress anyone.
And yet, she was radiant.
She tilted her face to the moonlight and smiled.
Nolan's breath hitched.
He didn't even realize he was still standing there until Jett called, wondering why he hadn't left yet.
"I'm... in the moonlight," he said absentmindedly.
"…What?"
He never explained.
From that night on, every time he saw a quiet sky washed in moonlight, he remembered her—her hands, her quiet smile, the way she whispered, "Wait for me."
He returned to China under the cover of a basketball exchange program.
But only he knew the real reason—her.
Now she stood in front of him, real and vivid, holding his shirt with those same fingers. She had tied her hair in a sharp bun, wore subtle pink polish, and looked like someone who had just stepped out of that very memory.
"Thanks," he murmured, unsure of what else to say.
Did she remember that night?
If she did, she gave no sign.
She just winked. "By the way, have you ever tried that Minnan snack shop down the road? They've got fish balls, oyster fritters, the works."
"Can't say I have."
"Well, today's your lucky day." She turned and waved him to follow. "You eat, I narrate. I take food reviewing very seriously."
They entered the cozy eatery. Worn wooden tables. A comforting smell in the air.
Celeste turned into a food tour guide. "These fish balls? Bouncy and fresh. That soup? Salty, but honest—like life."
Soon, steaming plates arrived. Oyster fritters crisp and golden. Fish balls sparkling in broth. Nolan took a bite and lit up.
"This is amazing."
"Told you," she said proudly. "I'm not just pretty, I'm a reliable food reviewer too."
He laughed. Her confidence was magnetic.She wasn't just sunshine—she was a thunderstorm that chose to smile.
And today—he was glad to be caught in the storm.
He watched her lean forward, laughing over a plate of fritters, fingers dancing in the air.
She had no idea how vividly he remembered that night under the moon.
If he reached out now… would she stay this time?
Celeste took another sip of soup and glanced at him—just briefly.
He looked calm. Unshaken. The kind of boy girls wrote poems about.
But in that stillness, she saw something. Something not said.
And suddenly, she wondered—
Was she the only one remembering… or had he never forgotten?
________________________________________________________________________
"He came back for basketball.But really—he came back for the girl in the moonlight."