The medical university woke early.
White corridors echoed with measured footsteps, the smell of disinfectant sharp and unforgiving. Screens flickered on. Staff adjusted coats. Students hurried with coffee cups and unfinished thoughts.
None of them knew who was walking through the main gates at exactly 8:12 a.m.
Ling Kwong stepped out of the black car without ceremony.
No entourage. No announcement.
Just a tailored black coat, hair pulled back neatly, glasses resting low on her nose. Her posture was straight, her expression unreadable. She paused for half a second, eyes lifting to the building in front of her.
Her university.
She hadn't been here in years.
"Good morning," the guard said automatically, then froze when Ling looked at him.
He swallowed. "I—uh—welcome, ma'am."
Ling nodded once and walked in.
Inside, whispers began almost immediately.
"Who is that?"
"Faculty?"
"No idea… but did you feel that?"
"She walks like she owns the place."
She did.
Ling moved through the lobby slowly, deliberately, observing. Digital notice boards. Updated labs. New wings she had approved on paper but never seen in person. Her footsteps were silent, but people moved out of her way without understanding why.
A junior administrator spotted her and stiffened. "Excuse me, can I help you?"
Ling stopped.
"I'm here to look around," she said.
Her voice was calm. Low. Controlled.
The administrator nodded too fast. "Of—of course. Are you… expected?"
Ling met her eyes.
"Yes."
That was all.
The woman paled slightly. "I'll call the dean."
"No need," Ling replied. "I prefer to observe."
She walked past before the woman could respond.
In a lecture hall, a professor was mid-sentence.
"As you can see, myocardial infarction—"
He faltered when Ling entered.
Not because she disrupted him.
Because something in the room shifted.
Ling took a seat at the back.
"Please continue," she said when he hesitated.
He cleared his throat. "Yes. Right."
Students stole glances at her instead of their slides.
"Who is she?"
"Guest lecturer?"
"She's handsome."
Ling listened. Corrected nothing. Wrote nothing. Just watched.
In the lab wing, gloves snapped, instruments clinked.
A student whispered, "Don't mess up. Someone important is here."
Ling passed between stations, hands clasped behind her back.
"Your grip is wrong," she said quietly to one student without stopping.
The student stiffened. "I—sorry—"
"Angle," Ling added. "Not pressure."
The student adjusted. The result improved instantly.
Ling kept walking.
The lab supervisor hurried after her. "Ma'am—are you from the board?"
Ling stopped.
She turned just enough for her gaze to land fully.
"Yes."
The supervisor's face drained of color. "I—I didn't know—"
"You weren't required to," Ling said. "Continue your work."
By the time she reached the top floor, word had spread like electricity.
"She's here."
"Who?"
"The owner."
"What?"
"That's Kwong Ling."
Doors opened too quickly. People straightened too late.
The dean finally reached her, breath slightly uneven. "Ms. Kwong. We would have prepared—"
Ling raised a hand.
"I'm not here for ceremony," she said. "I'm here to understand."
The dean nodded stiffly. "Of course."
Ling looked out through the glass wall at the campus below.
Students crossing paths. Lives colliding. Futures forming.
Her expression did not change.
"I'll be applying here," Ling said.
The dean blinked. "As—?"
"Professor," Ling replied.
Silence.
Then a careful, reverent nod. "It would be… an honor."
Ling turned away.
As she walked back down the corridor, unseen by most, feared by all—
She told herself the same lie again.
That this place was neutral. That ownership meant control. That distance still existed here.
She did not know—
That somewhere in this same university, Someone else walked the halls with the same restraint.
And that control, like memory,
Was already slipping.
Ling left the university the same way she had entered it—without pause, without looking back.
The black car waited at the curb as if it had been holding its breath. As soon as she stepped out of the glass doors, conversations erupted behind her like delayed thunder.
"Did you see her face?"
"No way she's real."
"That aura—she didn't even smile and I forgot how to breathe."
"Owner or not, she's unfairly handsome."
Ling heard none of it.
She slid into the car, closed the door herself, and rested her head briefly against the seat. Her jaw tightened. Not from the whispers. From the quiet.
"Drive," she said.
The car pulled away.
Inside the campus, the spell didn't break.
Students stood clustered near the entrance, replaying moments like evidence.
"She corrected a final-year student with two words."
"She didn't raise her voice once."
"I swear the hall went silent when she walked in."
A girl fanned herself dramatically. "If she lectures us, I'll attend every class."
Another laughed. "Same. I'd learn cardiology for her."
"She's the owner, right?"
"Yes. Kwong."
"She didn't look real."
"She looked dangerous."
The doors opened again.
Rhea stepped inside.
She wore her usual—neutral colors, hair tied back, bag hanging from one shoulder. Her expression was composed, eyes already scanning her phone for schedules and updates. She moved through the entrance without slowing, without reacting to the noise around her.
Two girls brushed past her, still talking.
"I heard she was here today."
"Yes! Apparently she walked through labs like she owned the air."
"She's going to lecture us soon, right?"
"I hope so. I wouldn't mind being taught by someone that handsome."
Rhea paused—not because of interest.
Because they were blocking the corridor.
She stepped aside, letting them pass.
"Did they say a name?" Rhea asked flatly.
One of the girls glanced at her, startled by the sudden interruption. "Huh? No. Just… the owner."
Rhea nodded once.
She continued walking.
It didn't occur to her—not even for a second—that it could be Ling.
Ling was gone. Ling was elsewhere. Ling was a chapter she had closed with shaking hands and no witnesses.
The idea didn't exist.
Rhea took the stairs instead of the elevator. Habit. Control. Breathing space. Her footsteps were measured, steady, unhurried.
In the hallway, a group of students stood near a notice board.
"Did you feel it?" one whispered.
"Like the building straightened itself."
"My supervisor said she's terrifying in meetings."
"I want her to look at my work."
Rhea passed them without looking.
In her classroom, she took her seat. Same row. Same place. Notebook aligned. Pen ready.
She overheard fragments as people filed in.
"She wore black."
"No jewelry. Just glasses."
"She didn't smile."
"She didn't need to."
Rhea wrote the date at the top of her page.
Her hand didn't shake.
The lecture began.
Outside, somewhere beyond her awareness, Ling's car merged into traffic—already moving away, already convincing herself she had avoided something dangerous.
Inside the university, Rhea listened to a lecture about anatomy, unaware that the air she was breathing still carried Ling's presence like a receding echo.
They had missed each other by minutes.
By corridors.
By fate's cruel timing.
And both believed—briefly, foolishly—
That distance had worked.