The gentle hum of cicadas filled the warm evening air, blending with the muffled chatter from the living room where Yichen and his friends were still locked in a fierce gaming battle. From the balcony, Zhao Liyun could see the faint flicker of the television screen through the curtains, a moving patch of light that seemed to dance with every shift in the game.
She remained where Mingchen had left her, fingers still curled around the thin breeze that had once carried his voice. Her heart, still fluttering, felt both foolish and hopeful at once — foolish for thinking these small moments meant anything to him, and hopeful because she couldn't help but wish they did.
Liyun had always been quiet — not shy exactly, but someone who felt more at ease observing rather than standing in the center of things. Even as a child, she found comfort in corners: the corner of the living room, the farthest desk in the classroom, the side of the playground where fewer children gathered. It wasn't that she didn't like people, she simply preferred the quiet hum of life to its loud roar.
That's why her crush on Xu Mingchen felt so illogical, even to herself. He wasn't loud like Haoran, or flashy like some of Yichen's other friends, but Mingchen had a quiet presence that drew people in. He didn't talk much, but when he did, everyone listened. He wasn't the type to fight for attention — attention seemed to follow him naturally, like sunlight breaking through leaves.
And for some reason, no matter how many times Liyun told herself to forget it, her heart kept following too.
That night, after the boys had finally left and Yichen collapsed face-first onto the couch in exhaustion, Liyun sat cross-legged on her bed, a scrapbook open in front of her. It was the one she'd started at age eleven — a collection of tiny memories she'd gathered over the years.
In one corner, a faded ticket stub from the first time Yichen took her to the movies with his friends. Mingchen had been there too, buying them all popcorn and making sure she didn't get lost in the crowd. She'd only been twelve then, but her heart had already started its quiet, helpless journey toward him.
There was a pressed leaf from the time they'd all gone hiking together during a family outing. Yichen had complained the entire way up the trail, but Mingchen had walked beside her, pointing out small wildflowers and making her laugh with his quietly sarcastic commentary. She had been fourteen then, and every joke felt like a secret they shared.
And there, tucked between the pages, a candy wrapper from the day Mingchen had casually handed her his last piece of strawberry candy. She was sixteen that day, and the candy had tasted sweeter than anything she'd ever had.
Liyun traced her fingers over the memories, the edges worn soft from years of revisiting them. It was silly, she knew — clinging to these small moments like they were treasures. But they were all she had, fragments of a dream she didn't dare voice aloud.
A soft knock on her door made her jump, quickly snapping the scrapbook shut.
"Come in," she called, her voice a little too high.
Yichen poked his head in, hair sticking up at odd angles. "I ordered midnight snacks. Want some?"
Liyun smiled. "Only if you ordered those cheese egg tarts."
"Obviously," Yichen grinned. "Come down in ten."
As her brother disappeared down the hall, Liyun took one last glance at her scrapbook before tucking it safely under her pillow. Some things were too precious to leave out in the open — even in her own room.
---
The next day was impossibly bright, sunlight streaming through her bedroom window and chasing away any remnants of last night's quiet longing.
It was a Saturday, which meant the usual — Yichen and his friends would probably invade the house at some point, but until then, the morning was hers. Liyun sat at the dining table, sketchbook open beside her breakfast plate, her pencil moving lazily across the page.
She was halfway through sketching a half-finished tree when her phone buzzed.
[Group Chat: Yichen & Co.]
Haoran: Who's free today?
Yichen: Depends. Are you paying for lunch?
Haoran: Do I look rich?
Mingchen: I'm free after 2.
Liyun's heart skipped.
It was ridiculous how seeing his name in a chat could brighten her entire mood. She hadn't even realized she was smiling until her mother walked past and raised an eyebrow.
"What's with that dreamy face?"
"N-Nothing!" Liyun flipped her sketchbook shut so fast she almost spilled her tea.
Mrs. Zhao hummed knowingly but didn't press. "Well, if Yichen's friends are coming, help me tidy up later."
"Okay!"
Liyun spent the next hour in a strange mix of anticipation and panic — Mingchen wasn't coming specifically to see her, but he was coming, and that was enough to set her nerves on edge.
By 2:30, the familiar sounds of Yichen's friends filled the house — the thud of shoes being kicked off at the door, the jangle of keys, Haoran's loud greetings, and Mingchen's quieter, almost lazy, "Hey."
Liyun peeked down from the staircase, her heart stuttering at the sight of Mingchen standing in the entryway, hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he listened to Yichen's animated rant about some new game update.
He looked effortlessly handsome, dressed in a simple black shirt and faded jeans, his hair slightly messy — like he hadn't really tried, but still somehow looked perfect.
Liyun forced herself to retreat to her room before anyone caught her staring, but her hands felt too shaky to hold her pencil steady.
It was always like this — her heart so full of feelings she had nowhere to put.
---
Later in the afternoon, after Yichen and his friends had taken over the living room, Liyun escaped to the kitchen under the pretense of helping her mom prepare snacks. She was slicing fruit when the kitchen door creaked open.
"Need help?"
Liyun nearly dropped the knife.
Mingchen stood there, hands in his pockets, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Uh—" she swallowed hard, trying to calm her racing pulse. "I'm okay."
He didn't leave. Instead, he leaned casually against the counter, watching her hands move.
"You're good at that," he said.
"At what?"
"Cutting fruit. You always make the slices even."
It was such an ordinary comment, but coming from him, it felt like the highest praise.
"Thanks," she mumbled, cheeks warm.
The silence between them wasn't awkward — it was the kind of silence that felt oddly comfortable, like the pause between heartbeats.
"You still draw a lot?" Mingchen asked.
Liyun's eyes widened slightly. "You remember that?"
"Of course." His smile was soft, almost fond. "You've always been the quiet artist type."
Liyun's heart swelled with warmth — because even if it was just a small comment, it was proof he saw her.
And for now, being seen was enough.
(End of chapter)
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— Author of 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡