The car slowed smoothly before the entrance of a five-star restaurant that glowed like it had never known sorrow.
Warm golden lights spilled onto polished marble steps. Valets moved with rehearsed grace. Glass doors reflected the city back in fragments—clean, expensive, untouched.
Rina whistled softly as she parked. "See? Normal human activity."
Ling stepped out of the car and looked at the place without reaction. "This is not normal," she said flatly. "This is performance."
Rina laughed, locking the car. "Everything is a performance. At least this one comes with food."
They walked toward the entrance. The moment Ling crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted—subtle, instinctive. The hostess straightened. A waiter paused mid-step. Eyes followed her without understanding why.
"Good evening," the hostess said, smile widening a fraction too much. "Reservation?"
"Yes," Rina said easily. "Kwong."
The hostess froze for half a second. Then recovered. "Of course. Right this way."
Ling leaned slightly toward Rina as they followed. "You didn't have to use the name."
Rina smirked. "I wanted good service."
They were led to a private corner table near a glass wall overlooking the city. Soft music played. Candles flickered. Everything was curated to feel intimate, luxurious, safe.
They sat.
A waiter appeared instantly. "Would you like to start with drinks?"
Rina opened the menu. "Wine."
Ling didn't look at hers. "Water."
Rina glanced up. "Still behaving?"
Ling met her eyes. "Still in control."
The waiter nodded and left.
Rina leaned back, studying Ling properly now—really looking. "You scared people today, didn't you?"
Ling's expression didn't change. "They scared themselves."
Rina chuckled. "You enjoy it."
"No," Ling replied. "I enjoy clarity."
"Same thing," Rina teased.
Food arrived slowly—plated beautifully, untouched for a moment.
Rina finally grew quiet. "You know," she said, poking at her plate, "when you left… the house felt hollow."
Ling's fingers tightened faintly around her glass. "It was necessary."
"For you," Rina said. "Not for us."
Ling didn't respond.
Rina continued, voice softer. "Dadi cried at night. Aunt pretended she didn't. Uncle worked more. And I—" she shrugged, "—kept wondering which version of you would come back."
Ling looked away toward the city lights. "This one."
Rina followed her gaze. "You're calmer."
Ling's jaw clenched. "I'm quieter."
"That's not the same."
Ling finally looked back. "I didn't come back to be the same."
Rina nodded slowly. "Fair."
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Cutlery clinked softly.
Then Rina spoke again, deliberately casual. "So… medical university. You didn't pick it randomly," Rina said.
Ling resumed eating. "I don't do random."
Rina leaned forward. "You sure you're not circling something instead of avoiding it?"
Ling's eyes lifted—sharp now. Warning. "Don't."
Rina raised both hands. "Okay. I won't."
But the tension lingered.
A nearby table laughed too loudly. A couple toasted. Someone celebrated something.
Ling watched them with distant detachment.
Rina followed her gaze. "You don't miss joy," she said quietly. "You miss safety."
Ling's voice was low. "I miss silence."
Rina smiled sadly. "You were never meant for silence."
The waiter returned. "Dessert?"
"No," Ling said immediately.
Rina ordered anyway. "Two."
Ling gave her a look. "You're insubordinate."
Rina grinned. "You love that."
When dessert came, Rina pushed one plate toward Ling. "Eat."
Ling stared at it for a long second. Then picked up her fork.
"Happy?" Ling asked dryly.
Rina nodded. "Immensely."
Ling took one bite.
Outside, the city continued—unaware, uncaring.
Inside the restaurant, two women sat across from each other, pretending this was just dinner.
Pretending this evening was light.
Neither of them said the name that hovered between Ling's thoughts like a bruise she refused to touch.
Neither of them noticed that somewhere else, under different lights, another car was slowing—
And fate, patient as ever, was watching both tables being set.
The glass doors of the same five-star restaurant opened again that evening, quietly, without drama.
Rhea walked in first, Amaya balanced in her arms, one small hand clutching Rhea's collar like it was home. Shyra followed, adjusting her dress, eyes scanning the place with mild curiosity.
"Are you sure this place is okay?" Rhea asked softly. "She'll get restless."
Amaya answered for herself by babbling happily, eyes wide at the lights. "Ninnaaa."
Rhea's lips curved into a smile she hadn't worn often lately. "See? She likes it."
Shyra smiled, but there was weight behind it. "You don't come out anymore, Rhea. This is good. Even if it's just dinner."
Rhea nodded, not trusting her voice. She held Amaya a little tighter.
The hostess approached. "Table for three?"
"Yes," Shyra replied. "Corner, if possible."
As they were led in, Rhea didn't look around. She was focused on Amaya, brushing a kiss into her hair, murmuring, "Stay with me, okay?"
Amaya giggled.
They passed tables, laughter, soft music—passed Ling and Rina's section without pause.
Ling was mid-sentence, her back partially turned.
"…I don't do coincidences," Ling was saying, voice low.
Rina smirked. "Life does. You just punch it when it tries."
Ling huffed a faint laugh—rare, brief.
Rhea was seated two sections away, her back also turned.
Neither saw. Neither sensed.
Shyra settled into her chair. "Relax. Eat. You look like you're about to run."
Rhea adjusted Amaya onto her lap. "I'm fine."
"You always say that," Shyra replied gently. "And you're never fine."
Rhea didn't argue.
A waiter came. "Would you like a high chair for the child?"
Rhea shook her head instantly. "No. She stays with me."
Shyra raised an eyebrow. "See? Attachment issues."
Rhea shot her a look. "She's twenty months."
"And you're about to be twenty," Shyra said. "Still counts."
Amaya patted Rhea's cheek. "Ninnaaa."
Rhea smiled despite herself. "Traitor."
They ordered. Simple food. Nothing heavy.
"You don't snap back anymore," Shyra continued. "You don't argue. You don't even cry properly."
Rhea swallowed. "I don't have the energy."
Before Shyra could answer, a sudden laugh rang out—from Ling's table.
It wasn't loud. But it was unmistakable.
Rhea's hand froze mid-motion.
Her heart skipped, then thudded painfully.
Shyra noticed immediately. "What?"
"Nothing," Rhea said too quickly. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the feeling crawling up her spine. "I thought I heard—"
"Rhea," Shyra warned. "Don't spiral."
Rhea nodded, forcing herself to focus on Amaya. "Eat," she murmured, offering a spoon.
Across the room, Ling leaned back, expression composed again.
Rina studied her. "You okay?"
Ling's eyes flicked briefly, scanning the restaurant out of habit—not looking for anyone.
"I'm fine," Ling said. Then, after a pause, "I just felt… something."
Rina smirked. "Congratulations. You're human."
Ling didn't smile this time.
The waiter passed between sections.
A mirror panel reflected fragments—black coat, grey eyes, soft curls, a child's bracelet.
Rhea glanced up at the reflection accidentally.
Her breath caught.
Not recognition. Not yet.
Just a sense of familiarity so sharp it hurt.
She looked away instantly, heart racing.
Shyra watched her closely. "You saw something."
"No," Rhea whispered. "I felt something."
"Same thing," Shyra replied.
Amaya tugged at Rhea's chain. "Ninna, up!"
Rhea stood, rocking her gently. "Okay. Okay."
She turned slightly to soothe her—
And for half a second, across candlelight and glass and distance, Ling turned too.
Their eyes did not meet.
Not yet.
But fate had placed them in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending the past wasn't sitting just a few tables away.
The night continued.
The doors had already closed.
And neither of them knew that maybe this was the last evening they would be strangers again.