Yeh and Lin, by some unspoken agreement, did not contact each other privately again.
Four days later, it was Yeh's birthday. She had expected it that since she didn't sent a message on Lin's birthday, Lin probably wouldn't either. It wasn't about keeping score, it was a natural boundary taking effect.
And indeed, the day of Yeh's birthday passed without message from that name. Yeh wasn't surprised. She knew Lin might truly have forgotten, or perhaps remembered but thought no need to say anything. After all, they had only met twice. All their interactions could easily be defined as "business," with no reason to step outside those lines.
Meanwhile, the cooperative project with Lin moved forward surprisingly well. The streaming platform and investors progressed faster than expected. Key milestones were confirmed quickly and cleanly, with very little back-and-forth. It unfolded almost exactly as Yeh had outlined in the proposal she'd written Lin's team.
Yeh had already aligned with Fiona: all updates would go through her, passed on in a single, orderly channel.
That day, Fiona typed out a message:
"Project is about to get started, ladies."
It was casual words, but the moment it appeared, it felt like a door that had been closed was pushed slightly open again.
Yeh didn't reply immediately. She paused, giving herself a buffer, not wanting her emotions to show too plainly.
Yet she felt a distinct, subtle satisfaction:
The silence between she and Lin hadn't driven them apart. Everything was still on track. Even more smoothly than she had anticipated. She couldn't help thinking: fate, could be surprisingly cooperative. As long as she stayed within bounds—kept things rational—she and Lin could continue to work together. Perhaps naturally become good friends.
When Lin saw the message, she paused too. She had been prepared herself for delays—cross-team, cross-region projects were prone to hiccups. It was normal for things to get stuck.
But not this time. It was moving steadily, even rapidly.
She knew why. Yeh was the type of person who got things done. Yeh was goal-oriented, once she decided on a direction, she moved things forward, step by step, with strong execution capability, she would not give up halfway. To sum up, she was a perfect business partner.
Lin looked at the message, but didn't click on Yeh's profile, nor did she message her privately.
Neither did Yeh.
An invisible line had been drawn between them by mutual consent:
Appear only where it is appropriate.
Speak only when necessary. It was the safest way, the least likely to cause mistakes.
The discussion in the group accelerated. Timelines, budgets, responsibilities—details were thrown out and confirmed instantly.
The chat scrolled fast, busy, concrete, full of momentum.
And Yeh and Lin, sitting behind their respective screens, remained silent.
No extra expressions, no personal extensions. They were just participating in group discussion.
To the outside, they were just business partners. But only they knew that this "perfect distance" was more loaded than any private conversation.
Because it meant: They hadn't moved closer, but they hadn't pulled away either. They were still on the same path.
And all these has confirmed each other's continued presence in the most restrained way possible. And that neither of them had truly disappeared from the other's world.