The soft hum of the ceiling fan stirred the silence in Lian Yue's hostel room. A thin strip of early morning light crept through the curtains, drawing a pale line across the floor. Outside, Qinghe University was just beginning to wake. Somewhere in the distance, a kettle whistled, a door creaked open, muffled footsteps shuffled down the corridor.
Inside her room, everything felt still.
Ruan Meng sat cross-legged on the bed, wearing one of Lian Yue's oversized t-shirts, her dark hair tied into a lazy ponytail. She was flipping through one of Lian Yue's old books, but her eyes kept drifting toward the shelf in the corner—the one with the books Shen Tinglan had sent.
"Why do you still keep these?" Ruan Meng asked, voice casual but edged with quiet concern. "They just sit there. You haven't even opened them."
Lian Yue turned her head slowly, following her friend's gaze. The books had been untouched since the day she placed them there. She hadn't even read the titles. She knew each one was something he thought would interest her—thoughtfully chosen, just like always. But something about the package had felt cold. Final. Like an obligation dressed in politeness.
"I don't know," she said honestly, her hands wrapped around a now-cold mug of tea. "Maybe I thought I'd want to read them later."
Ruan Meng shut the book with a quiet snap. "Yue, he's not going to suddenly change his mind."
Lian Yue didn't flinch. She didn't bristle or bite back. Her voice was calm when she said, "I know."
Ruan Meng raised an eyebrow. "Do you really?"
A soft smile touched Lian Yue's lips. "I think I'm starting to."
She had spent weeks pretending not to check her phone. Pretending not to count how many days had passed since the package arrived. But somewhere between skipped meals and sleepless nights, the ache had begun to dull—not with time, but with choice. She had stopped waiting. Not because it didn't matter anymore, but because she had finally realized she mattered too.
"He doesn't owe me anything," she said softly, her gaze drifting toward the window where the sunlight was growing warmer. "And I don't owe him my sadness."
Ruan Meng leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes soft but direct. "You deserve more than silence. You deserve someone who doesn't hesitate when it comes to you."
Lian Yue didn't reply right away. Her thoughts flickered to the countless moments she had stored away—little things: the warmth of his palm when she had fallen asleep beside him in the car, the way he used to pull her scarf higher on cold mornings without saying a word. She had built meaning into each one.
And then, there was that note: "For Yue. No need to reply."
Not unkind. But distant. Detached.
It wasn't cruelty. It was clarity. And that, somehow, hurt more.
"I kept hoping he'd say something," she whispered. "That he'd— I don't know. Just acknowledge me."
"You wanted him to see you."
Lian Yue looked down at the rim of her cup. "Yeah."
Ruan Meng sighed dramatically and flopped back onto the bed. "Honestly, I don't get it. You have a bunch of suitors—cute ones, smart ones, the kind that actually text back—and you're still pining over a guy who sent you a package like it was a business transaction."
Lian Yue raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't pining."
"You were emotionally starving, and don't even try to deny it," Ruan Meng said, sitting back up. "You're Yue. You're gorgeous, kind, weirdly obsessed with weather documentaries, and for some reason, half the department has a crush on you. Pick one of them. Date someone chaotic. Shake up your life a little. Or at least go out for coffee that doesn't end with you thinking about his favorite blend."
Lian Yue laughed, the sound sudden and unguarded. "You're being ridiculous."
"Am I?" Ruan Meng said, tilting her head. "You don't have to fall in love tomorrow. I'm just saying—let someone new make you smile. Preferably someone who doesn't communicate like a refrigerator manual."
Lian Yue chuckled, shaking her head. "I think I just want to be by myself for a while."
Ruan Meng's tone softened. "That's valid, too. Just… promise me you won't keep shrinking yourself around people who make you feel small."
Lian Yue looked at her, something settling in her chest. "I promise."
"I see you," Ruan Meng said after a pause. "So does everyone who actually pays attention. But you keep pouring yourself into someone who won't even look up."
Her voice wasn't accusing—just heartbreakingly matter-of-fact.
Lian Yue exhaled, long and steady. "Maybe I needed to do that. Just once. To be sure."
"And now?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Now I'm sure."
There was no anger in her voice. No pain, no tears. Just quiet resolution.
Ruan Meng reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Then let him go. You've carried this long enough."
Lian Yue didn't reply. Instead, she stood slowly and walked to the shelf. She looked at the stack of books one more time. She traced her finger along the spine of the topmost one—something about music theory, she vaguely remembered.
Then, without ceremony, she gathered the books into her arms and carried them to her desk. She opened the bottom drawer—empty, clean—and placed them inside. Not thrown away. Not banished. Just... removed from sight.
She closed the drawer gently.
When she turned around, Ruan Meng was watching her with a small, proud smile.
"That was very un-dramatic," she teased.
"I don't feel dramatic," Lian Yue said. "I just feel… done."
And she did. Not broken. Not triumphant. Just quietly at peace, as if she had finally put down something heavy she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying for so long.
She returned to her seat beside her friend and leaned back against the wall, legs tucked under her.
"I think I can breathe again," she murmured.
Ruan Meng nudged her shoulder. "Good. Maybe now you can eat properly, too. You've been living on crackers and stubbornness for weeks."
Lian Yue laughed—genuinely this time. "I'll think about it."
They sat in silence for a while, letting the morning unfold around them. The curtain fluttered gently in the breeze, and the sun painted golden lines across the floor.
Outside, life was beginning again. Students wandered down the paths, heading toward their routines, their classes, their futures.
Inside, Lian Yue was beginning again, too.
Maybe not with someone beside her. But with herself.
And for now, that was enough.