Chapter 2: A Collision of Fate
It was the kind of night that smelled like wet concrete and unsaid words.
Wei Jie stepped out of the convenience store, a steaming cup of instant noodles in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. He had just finished another overtime shift, and all he wanted was a quiet dinner and a warm bed. The city was drenched in rain, and the streetlights cast a golden shimmer over the wet asphalt.
He took a sip of the noodles and sighed, steam curling around his face.
Same streets. Same silence. Same loneliness.
He walked slowly, deliberately, as if trying to stretch the night, or perhaps delay returning to his cold, empty apartment. Turning down a familiar alley—a shortcut he had taken for years—he passed by shuttered stores and sleeping buildings. The only sounds were the slosh of his shoes and the whisper of the wind.
Until—
A sudden screech of brakes.
A shout.
A blur.
A bicycle came out of nowhere and skidded across the wet ground. It missed him by inches before crashing to the ground with a harsh, metallic thud.
"Shit!" Wei Jie dropped his milk, the carton bursting open beside his shoes. "Hey! Are you okay?"
He rushed forward, crouching beside the figure tangled with the bicycle.
The rider groaned and pushed themselves upright, hood falling back.
Time stopped.
The world tilted.
"…Xuan Qi?"
The name escaped before he could think. She looked up, blinking through rain-soaked lashes, confusion and pain etched across her face. A small gash ran along her forehead, and her lower lip was bleeding slightly.
"Wei Jie?"
The name landed between them like a bomb. It echoed. It cracked something open.
He stared at her, the girl who had disappeared five years ago without a word. The girl he thought he'd never see again.
"I—what are you doing here?" she asked, voice soft and hoarse, like it hadn't been used in hours.
"I live around here," he said automatically, still stunned. "What about you? Why were you—?"
"I was just… riding. Got lost in my own head, I guess."
He looked at her bike—bent wheel, chain dangling—and the trembling in her hands. She was soaked to the bone, clothes clinging to her frame, hair plastered against her cheeks.
"Come on," he said, standing. "You can't ride home like this. You're bleeding."
She hesitated.
"Just… come. I'm not a stranger."
She gave him a look—part wary, part nostalgic—and nodded.
His apartment was small and quiet, the kind of place that held more memories than furniture. He handed her a towel and gestured to the bathroom.
"You can clean up there. I'll make tea.
Ten minutes passed before she came out, her hair tied loosely and face cleaner but pale.
He handed her the tea without a word and sat down across from her. She curled up on the edge of the couch like she didn't quite belong. Like she was waiting for him to kick her out.
"Why are you here, Xuan Qi?"
Her fingers tightened around the mug. "I could ask you the same thing."
He stared at her. "You disappeared. Five years ago. One day you were there, the next—gone. No call, no message. Not even a goodbye."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
Silence.
She looked down. "Because I was scared. Because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because someone told me… you didn't need me messing up your life."
His eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"
"It doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me."
She looked at him then, and he saw the old fire, the same stubborn defiance that had once drawn him in like a moth to flame.
"I made a mistake, Wei Jie. Leaving like that. I thought I was protecting you."
"From what?"
"From me. From my family. From my problems."
He scoffed. "You think I wouldn't have stayed?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I didn't give you the chance."
The words hung heavy in the air. Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle, tapping gently on the windowpane like a forgotten melody.
"I waited," he said finally. "For months, I waited. I messaged. Called. You just… vanished."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "I wasn't brave enough. And by the time I wanted to go back, I thought it was too late."
A long pause stretched between them.
Then, he said quietly, "And now?"
She looked up.
"Is it still too late?"
Their eyes met. Something fragile passed between them—recognition, regret, something old but unfinished.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I don't want to run again."
He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Then stay. Just for tonight."
Later, she sat curled in his hoodie on the couch while he warmed up new noodles.
They didn't talk much. They didn't need to.
Somewhere between midnight and morning, she fell asleep, the mug empty beside her, her breathing soft and steady.
Wei Jie watched her from the kitchen.
The rain had stopped. But something else had started.
And neither of them knew yet where it would lead.
But maybe—just maybe—fate wasn't finished with them after all.