The next morning, sunlight in Bangkok slipped through the hotel blinds, bright enough to make it impossible to stay low for long.
Yeh decided to go to the Bangkok National Museum on her own.
Whenever she arrived in a new city, she would visit a museum.
Not out of academic interest, but because standing in front of artifacts, murals, and old Buddha statues gave her a sense of time.
A feeling that she was connected, however briefly, to the city's past.
That sense of continuity steadied her.
Especially when emotions began to feel unstable, a museum worked like an anchor.
She didn't want to admit it, but she knew she was avoiding something—
avoiding the possibility of closeness between Lin and Jing,
avoiding the realization that she was slipping again.
In the afternoon, her phone vibrated.
Lin: Why didn't I see you at lunch?
Yeh: I went to a museum.
Lin: Why didn't you call us?
Us.
The word pricked her again. Still, her reply stayed calm and clean.
Yeh: I wasn't sure you'd be interested. Next time.
After sending it, she let out a quiet breath.
Yes—she hadn't asked them because she didn't want to witness their intimacy.
She knew exactly where her sensitivities lay.
And she wouldn't explain any of that to anyone.
New Year's Eve finally arrived.
After dinner, the four of them went to a bar Fiona had arranged—loud, crowded, the kind where people danced.
Voices, lights, and music blended into a single restless pulse.
Yeh had never liked noisy places.
She sat on the far left of the couch.
Before long, the other three were on the dance floor, completely absorbed.
From where she sat, Yeh watched Lin and Jing move closer, then apart, sometimes brushing shoulders.
She thought,
They belong to the same world.
Lin was warm and outgoing, carefree in motion.
Jing seemed just as at ease.
And herself—steady, restrained, no dancing, no drinking, no casual touch.
Maybe I really do seem boring to her.
She never allowed herself to lose control.
Elegance, for her, was a line she didn't cross.
About twenty minutes later, Lin came back, tired, and dropped down beside her without warning.
Then, just as suddenly, she leaned her head against Yeh shoulder.
Yeh froze.
Lin 's hair carried a faint scent, and Yeh found herself breathing more slowly, more deeply.
Her shoulder tensed, but she didn't move.
She didn't want to.
This moment was more intoxicating than the night air.
Lin lifted her head. They were very close now.
The noise forced her to speak right by Yeh's ear.
"Do you like girls?"
It was more direct than the two times before.
When Yeh turned, she met Lin's eyes—
too close, too intent.
Softly, Yeh asked back,
"Is that just curiosity… or something you ask every new friend?"
With a hint of alcohol in her voice, Lin replied,
"I just want to know you."
Before the moment could deepen, the atmosphere around them shifted.
People nearby raised their glasses. Not wanting to spoil the mood, Yeh poured herself half a glass.
The glasses clinked.
Lin looked at her, her gaze intense.
Ten seconds before midnight, everyone started counting down.
Ten. Nine. Eight…
At the first second of the new year, Lin wrapped an arm around Jing and hugged her.
Then she hugged Fiona.
And last—Yeh.
Time seemed to slow.
Lin's arms tightened. The warmth, the closeness, the rhythm of her breathing—it felt both accidental and inevitable.
Yeh's hands lifted slightly.
She wanted to hug her back, even once.
But she stopped herself.
She knew exactly where the danger lay.
If she returned the embrace, it would mean stepping in deeper.
In the end, she let Lin hold her, then lightly—very lightly—patted her back.
In a calm voice, Yeh said,
"Happy New Year."