---
The faint scent of jasmine tea still lingered in the air, hours after Meilin had left the dining hall. Outside, the wind pressed gently against the windows of the Moon Pavilion, like it too had something to say but didn't dare speak too loudly.
She sat curled on the cushioned window seat, knees drawn to her chest, the oversized black shirt swallowing her frame. The shirt had absorbed the day's sunlight and now gave off a quiet, steady warmth, as if holding a part of him she didn't understand.
A book lay open in her lap, something about traditional architecture, but the words were nothing more than patterns on a page. Her eyes skimmed them, but her mind wandered elsewhere.
The silence in this house wasn't the kind that left you alone.
It watched you.
Followed you.
Asked you to shrink without a word.
And maybe, up until now, she had done just that.
---
She thought of how he had looked at her earlier.
Not with affection. Not even curiosity.
But like someone staring through a window at a painting they didn't understand, not yet. But they stood there anyway.
That kind of gaze stays with you.
And now here she was, sitting in a mansion too big for her grief, too quiet for her thoughts, too beautiful for someone who grew up in a home where even love came in hushed tones.
She closed the book gently.
She wasn't a guest here. Not anymore. She was his wife, in name, at least. And whether or not that name came with warmth or love or anything real, it came with space.
Space to feel.
Space to walk through gardens barefoot.
Space to sit in silence without shrinking.
And maybe that was where it would begin, not with loud declarations or battles for freedom.
But with quiet decisions to stop disappearing.
"I'm married now," she whispered into the still air.
And for the first time, it didn't sound like a sentence.
Not a cage.
"But I'm still me." Her fingers tightened slightly on the pages of the book. "And I'll live."
---
A soft knock interrupted the quiet.
She didn't answer, only looked up as the door creaked open. A maid entered with practiced grace, holding a folded jacket, charcoal grey, elegant, expensive.
"Miss Xu," she said gently, "the Master asked this be brought to you."
Meilin's brows lifted. "A… jacket?"
"Yes, miss. He said…" The maid hesitated. "He said you might catch a cold. That the windows in here… stay open too long."
That was all.
No note. No direct words. Just a quiet gesture sent through someone else.
The maid stepped forward and held it out. Meilin reached for the jacket, her fingers brushing against its softness. The fabric was smooth, cool from being carried, but it quickly warmed in her hands.
Too big for her.
Too careful to be accidental.
She said a quiet "Thank you," and the maid left with a bow, closing the door with barely a click.
---
Meilin stared at the jacket in her lap, her fingers gripping the sleeves gently. Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came.
He hadn't asked to see her.
He hadn't come himself.
He hadn't even looked back earlier at the staircase.
But this—
This small act said something else.
She pulled the jacket around her shoulders, letting it drape over the shirt she was still wearing. For a moment, it was almost like being wrapped in something more than fabric. Something that hesitated but didn't leave.
She sat like that for a long while.
Watching the breeze outside stir the blossoms.
Listening to the distant echo of footsteps in hallways she was beginning to learn.
Feeling the weight of a jacket she didn't ask for, but hadn't returned.
She didn't smile.
But she didn't let go either.
Not of the jacket.
Not of herself.
And definitely not of the quiet, growing resolve that she would no longer live like a ghost in someone else's home.
She would live.
Even if no one noticed at first.
Even if she was still figuring out what that meant.
She would live.
---