After several script meetings, it was almost time for Lin to leave.
Yeh assumed their next conversations would happen over calls or online. Then Lin's message arrived:
I'm flying back the day after tomorrow. Are you free for coffee tomorrow?
Yeh agreed without hesitation. She sent Lin the address of a café she'd saved long ago but never visited—assuming, naturally, that Lin would come with her team for a casual farewell.
The next day, Yeh arrived early. After a while, she looked up and saw Lin walking in alone.
"Just you?" Yeh asked. "Where's everyone else?"
"They went shopping," Lin said lightly. "What—am I not enough on my own?"
"No, no," Yeh smiled. "Just curious."
Lin took a sip of her coffee. "Why did you choose that novel?"
"I evaluated it from both market and content perspectives. Two main dimensions, twenty sub-criteria."
"That's the professional answer," Lin said.
"But when you read or watch a story, do you ever project yourself into it?"
"You guess."
"I think you do," Lin said. "Because I did too."
As she spoke, she lifted her eyes to Yeh. In that brief moment of eye contact, Yeh felt her heartbeat quicken. Lin had a way of letting attraction surface through nothing but her gaze.
Lin continued, "I said in the first meeting that I'd fight for my soulmate. But honestly, I'm not always that brave."
"How so?" Yeh asked, unable to hide her curiosity.
"I'm decisive only when I know the other person feels the same," Lin said. "If I'm unsure, I won't act. If they don't like me, I'd feel foolish—and I'd be heartbroken for a long time. I don't fall for people easily."
There was a quiet sadness in her voice.
Yeh couldn't tell whether Lin was speaking about the past or the present. She almost said, You and Jing seem very much in love.
Instead, Lin asked, "When you like someone, would you ever confess first?"
"No," Yeh said. "If they don't say it, I assume they don't feel the same. One-sided feelings don't mean much."
She realized she was speaking as much to herself.
Lin smiled. "Then if we ever liked each other, wouldn't we both just stay silent?"
Lin's tone was casual. Yeh's heart was not.
She found herself hoping Lin wasn't joking—hoping that even a one-percent chance existed that Lin might mean it.
They talked for nearly two hours before standing to leave. That was when the café owner approached them with enthusiasm.
"We have a listening room," she said. "Would you like to try it?"
Two romantics agreed without hesitation.
The owner led them into a large room filled with vinyl records and film posters. Romance saturated the space.
Yeh and Lin sank into a soft leather sofa, facing the posters and surround hi-fi equipment.
"You can choose any song you like," the owner said.
They exchanged a glance.
"You pick," Lin said.
"Then I'll choose my favorite," Yeh replied. "The Sound of Silence."
As the music began, the world seemed to fall quiet. It felt as though they had stepped into another realm.
Listening to the melody, Yeh became acutely aware of the person beside her—someone she was once into, and perhaps still is. The moment felt dreamlike, unbearably beautiful. Tears pressed at the edges of her eyes.
No matter how this ended, Yeh thought, having this moment is already a gift.
Love, she realized, was ultimately a solitary experience—felt fully only by the one who loves.
What Yeh didn't know was that Lin was just as moved. She turned to look at Yeh and found her staring ahead. Lin leaned closer and whispered near her ear,
"I'll remember this moment forever."
"So will I," Yeh whispered back.
Lin queued another song—Yellow.
It was from Boyhood, a film Yeh had once loved deeply. She hadn't expected to hear it again, let alone in a setting like this. The film followed a boy from age six to eighteen, filmed over twelve years. Watching him grow while his parents aged had always left Yeh both tender and undone.
They exchanged a quiet smile. Lin knew Yeh had seen it too.
Yeh leaned toward Lin and said softly, "Thank you for listening with me."
Later, Yeh walked Lin to a taxi. Just before getting in, Lin suddenly hugged her.
"We'll see each other a lot," Lin said.
As the car pulled away, Yeh was flooded with longing.
This meeting had made one thing undeniable—she still had feelings for Lin.
And knowing Lin was with Jing made that realization ache.
Yeh used to think that staying close to someone she loved, even just as a friend, was admirable. Now she understood something else:
Admitting you love someone is not enough. Being able to choose—and to walk away—is what makes you strong.
She decided she wouldn't deny her feelings. But she wouldn't act on them either.
And in doing so, she finally understood love for what it was—
wanting to move closer, even when you know it can never happen.