"Sometimes, the rain falls without even touching the ground."
The sky was an unnatural kind of grey. Too clean, too even—like it had been painted on by machines.
Lihua stood still on the sidewalk in front of Café Stillo, her hand resting lightly on the glass door. Her heart was beating in an odd rhythm—fast, but shallow. As if something inside her was trying to awaken, but couldn't quite find its shape.
She had told Shanshan it was about the matcha latte.
That she couldn't stop thinking about how smooth it was. How the tea tasted.
But that was a lie.
She remembered the man in the charcoal coat.
And the name.
Chengyan.
Now that she knew the name of the world he belonged to—Jiang Chengyan, CEO of Bluestone Consortium—it felt ridiculous. How could she have expected him to be the same? People changed across lives. Memory was fragile. Identity fragmented.
But still. Her feet had brought her back.
Shanshan was already speaking with the barista.
"Two iced matchas again," she said cheerfully, "but less syrup this time. And one red bean bun."
Lihua stayed just behind her, eyes fixed on the wide glass window that overlooked the street.
People moved outside in their sharp suits and wireless earbuds. A blur of umbrellas and coats. A low drizzle had started—so fine it looked like mist. The street shimmered with moisture, but the air lacked the rich scent of storm. No wet earth. No thunder. Just the quiet tapping of modern rain that didn't smell like rain at all.
Then—movement.
Just beyond the outer row of parked cars.
A tall man was standing by a sleek black sedan, its headlights winking through the haze. He was speaking to another man in a tan overcoat, gesturing lightly with one hand. Rain dotted the shoulders of his suit, but he didn't seem to notice. His voice—though she could not hear it—was steady. Calm. Confident.
He turned slightly.
And Lihua saw his profile.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
It was him.
The sharp line of his jaw. The slope of his nose. That glint of concentration in his eyes.
It was him.
Jiang Ye.
The name escaped her lips before she realized she was running.
"Jiang Ye!"
He froze.
Turned.
His hand, mid-motion to open the car door, paused as he looked over his shoulder.
Their eyes met.
The space between them folded in on itself. The city noise dulled. The air thinned.
She took a few more steps forward, the cafe door swinging closed behind her.
"Jiang Ye," she said again, breathless now.
He blinked once.
Then again.
A crease appeared between his brows.
"…Miss Yin?" he said slowly.
The rain dotted his temples, made his black hair shine faintly. His voice was just as she remembered it—not in sound, but in weight. Measured. Certain. Unrattled.
But not recognizing.
He tilted his head, brows lifting slightly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "And… who is Jiang Ye?"
Her throat tightened. The world swayed just slightly.
He didn't know.
Or he was hiding it.
"I…" she said, searching for a foothold, "I thought you were…"
Her voice trailed off.
He stepped toward her, lowering his voice as if not to startle her further.
"I visited a few times at the hospital," he said gently. "After the accident. You weren't awake then. I never got the news that you were discharged."
She stared at him as he spoke.
Now that he was this close, she could see it more clearly.
His face was familiar—but not quite the same.
His voice was similar—but lacked the clipped cadence of nobility.
Even the way he stood—it was too casual. Too modern. Jiang Ye would never have kept one hand in his pocket while speaking to her.
And yet…
And yet she had seen him. Just yesterday. For one impossible moment—he had looked exactly the same.
It had to mean something.
Didn't it?
The glass door burst open behind her.
"Miss Yin!"
Shanshan rushed forward, her heels clicking against the wet pavement. She stepped between Lihua and Jiang Chengyan instinctively, her expression flickering with practiced professionalism and barely disguised panic.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jiang," she said quickly, bowing slightly. "She was just discharged from the hospital two days ago. The doctors mentioned her memory might be… jumbled. Some fragments missing. Others resurfacing in odd ways. She didn't mean anything by it."
Lihua looked away, cheeks flushed.
She felt suddenly… small.
Jiang Chengyan's expression didn't shift. He glanced from Shanshan to Lihua again, then gave the barest nod.
"I see," he said. "No need to apologize."
He turned back to Lihua. "Still, I'm glad to see you up and walking. You gave everyone quite a scare."
Her lips parted. "…Did I?"
"You collapsed near the studio. No ID on you. It was Shanshan who contacted me. I arranged the hospital transfer." A pause. "It was the least I could do, considering our business ties."
Our business ties.
So cold. So reasonable.
She forced a tight smile.
"I don't remember that."
His gaze lingered.
Then he smiled faintly. "Well. Memory or not, it's good to see you."
He nodded again and stepped into the car.
The door clicked shut. The engine purred.
Then he was gone.
The rain had turned into something finer—like mist against her skin.
Shanshan gently touched her elbow. "Come on. Let's get inside. You'll catch a cold."
Lihua let herself be led back into the café. She barely noticed the warmth, the smell of sweet coffee and steamed buns.
She sat down numbly at their booth, staring at the untouched drink Shanshan placed before her.
"That was him," she whispered.
Shanshan paused mid-sip. "…Mr. Jiang?"
"No." Lihua's voice dropped. "That was Jiang Ye."
Shanshan gave a soft sigh.
"Lihua…"
"I know how it sounds," she said. "But when I saw him yesterday—I saw it. For a moment, it wasn't a memory. It was him. The way he stood. The way he looked at me."
"Maybe your mind is just filling in the blanks," Shanshan said gently. "It happens. Especially after trauma."
Lihua didn't answer.
She reached for the glass.
Took a sip.
It didn't taste like anything.
That night, she dreamed of moonlight.
Of red sleeves brushing temple stones.
Of a man standing beside her in silence, watching the city burn below.
His voice, low: "Do you believe in second lives, Feiran?"
She woke with a start.
Sweating.
Alone.