As the plane touched down, Lin leaned against the window, watching the runway approach. The city's outline sharpened from a blur into reality.
This was the city where Yeh lived. She had imagined it many times, but now that she was here, the distance felt suddenly tangible—no longer just a name, but a reality she could reach out and touch.
Ice checked the schedule beside her, Jing casually mentioned dinner plans, the atmosphere relaxed and natural.
Lin nodded along, but part of her mind was elsewhere. She told herself this was purely for work. Project meetings, investor discussions, team coordination—everything had a clear purpose. She knew the reason was valid. But she didn't fully believe herself.
Fiona was waiting downstairs of the office. She waved as they walked in. Yeh was there too, standing slightly back. She didn't hide, but she didn't step forward either. Her demeanor was clear: present, but not overstepping, as if every feeling had been folded neatly into a professional stance.
The moment Lin walked in, her eyes found Yeh almost instinctively. She was not searching, but seeing Yeh first.
Yeh saw her too. There was no dramatic rush of emotion, just a quiet, brief flutter in her chest.
It was like a conversation only they understood:
You're here.
I'm here.
They didn't move in for a hug. Just a nod, a smile—proper, restrained, carrying a warmth only the other could recognize. Their actions were controlled and perfectly measured. But the pause that hung between them was felt only by them.
Before the meeting, people gathered in the conference room to prepare materials. Fiona spoke with Lin's partner Ice about progress.
Yeh and Lin stood side by side by the floor-to-ceiling window, yet not deliberately close.
The city sprawled outside, traffic and lights weaving into lines.
Lin spoke first. "You guys must have been busy lately?"
The tone was ordinary, but it didn't quite hide the underlying concern.
Yeh nodded. "It's been fine. You guys must be busier."
She didn't ask how Lin had been. That would too unlike her, and would be too revealing.
Lin looked at her, Lin understood the boundary being held by Yeh. This person in front of her controlled her boundaries so precisely, as if taking one step too far would trigger an alarm. She found it faintly amusing. And, unexpectedly, appealing.
The air went quiet for a few seconds. Suddenly, Lin said, "I still remember our conversation in Bangkok."
It came out of nowhere, and Yeh visibly paused.
Realizing how it sounded, Lin quickly added, steering the tone back to professional ground, "I have a feeling we're going to work really well together."
Yeh smiled. "I think so too."
They didn't say more, but both knew those words meant more than just the project.
The meeting went smoothly. The investors approved Lin's team's ideas, and the schedule was finalized sooner than expected. Everyone discussed roles, next steps, and budget breakdowns. Key decisions were made within an hour. The rhythm was smooth, almost like rehearsed.
People were discussing details, refining timelines and budgets, the atmosphere remained professional and efficient. As one of the presenters,Yeh sat on one side, taking notes, adding input, her judgments were sharp and accurate. Yeh was comfortable with these business discussions.
Only Yeh knew that the hardest thing to manage wasn't the negotiation—it was Lin, seated diagonally across from her.
Now and then, Lin looked up. Their eyes met—briefly, unintentionally. The eye contact didn't linger, but enough to make her heartbeat stutter for a second. Each time, Yeh shifted her gaze away with practiced calm, maintaining perfect professional distance.
Lin noticed. She didn't stare at her, yet she caught every single moment. And she thought: she leaves absolutely no cracks open. But that restraint... it only makes me want to understand her more.
They went to dinner together afterward. The mood was easy, and Lin spoke comfortably with the investors.
With the deal largely settled, the conversation turned to life and trivialities. Laughter came easier, the pace slowed down.
Lin chatted effortlessly with the investors, she was born for these settings.
Yeh participated too, but maintained that perfect distance.
Until one small moment—
Lin reached for a glass of water and passed it over. Yeh reached out to take it. Their fingers brushed.
The contact was fleeting, almost negligible, light as air. But both of them froze for that split second. Not in movement, but in breath.
Yeh took the glass, her expression unchanged, saying a natural "Thank you", as if nothing had happened. Lin turned her attention back to Jing, pretending to listen.
The conversation continued, the atmosphere was unbroken. No one else noticed.
But the same thought surfaced in both their minds: feeling was still there. It hadn't faded away, nor had it been washed away by time. It was simply hidden, well enough.