The next few weeks slipped by in a blur of late summer heat, last-minute homework, and stolen moments. Liyun tried to pretend everything was the same — that her heart didn't skip every time Mingchen's name appeared on Yichen's phone, that she didn't linger in the living room just a little longer whenever Mingchen dropped by.
But pretending was exhausting.
Mingchen was everywhere.
He was in the kitchen, taste-testing Mrs. Zhao's new dumpling recipe. He was in the living room, stretched out on the couch with Yichen, controllers in hand. He was on the balcony, sipping iced tea and chatting with Mr. Zhao about random sports gossip.
And most of all, he was in her head.
Every smile, every casual touch, every offhand comment — they looped in her mind like a song stuck on repeat, filling up the quiet moments between school and home.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that her heart had latched onto someone so comfortably out of reach. Someone who belonged in her brother's world, not hers.
But the heart never cared about logic.
—
One Friday evening, with the sky a soft wash of lilac and gold, Liyun found herself at her usual perch on the balcony, sketchbook balanced on her knees. The faint sounds of Yichen and Mingchen arguing over some game drifted out through the open window, but it was background noise now — a familiar hum in her life.
She wasn't even sure what she was drawing. Her pencil moved almost on its own, tracing the outline of a hand — slender fingers, knuckles slightly prominent — before she realized whose hand she was sketching.
Mingchen's.
She snapped the sketchbook shut, cheeks burning even though no one was around to see.
"Sketching again?"
She nearly jumped out of her seat. Mingchen stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the sliding glass door. He wasn't wearing his usual hoodie tonight — just a plain white t-shirt and jeans, simple but effortlessly cool.
"You scared me," she muttered, hiding the sketchbook behind her back.
"Sorry." He stepped out onto the balcony, the light breeze ruffling his hair. "Needed some air."
"Me too."
They stood there for a moment, side by side, the cicadas filling the silence between them.
Mingchen leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Summer's almost over."
"Yeah," Liyun said softly. "It went by fast."
"Are you nervous?"
She blinked. "About what?"
"Your last year of high school."
"Oh." She hadn't really thought about it — not with her mind so preoccupied with other things. "A little, I guess. Mostly about exams. And college applications."
"You'll do fine," Mingchen said, his voice certain. "You've always been hardworking."
Liyun's heart swelled at the praise, even if it was simple. Coming from him, it meant more than any teacher's approval.
"What about you?" she asked, glancing sideways at him. "Do you like university?"
"It's okay," he said with a shrug. "Some classes are interesting. Some aren't. It's mostly about figuring stuff out on your own."
"Do you ever feel…" She hesitated. "Lost?"
Mingchen turned to look at her, eyebrows raised slightly. "Sometimes."
Liyun bit her lip. "I do too."
"Why?"
She hesitated again, fingers tightening around the edges of her sketchbook. "It feels like… everyone's moving so fast. Like they know exactly where they're going. But I don't."
"That's normal."
"It is?"
Mingchen's smile was soft, reassuring. "No one really knows. Some people are just better at pretending."
Liyun let out a small breath of relief. "So I'm not hopeless?"
"Not even close."
The conversation drifted into comfortable quiet, the kind where words weren't necessary. Liyun let herself relax, leaning against the railing beside him.
And then —
"Can I see?" Mingchen's voice was quiet, but it made her jump all the same.
"See what?"
"Your sketchbook."
Her pulse spiked. "It's nothing special."
"Come on," he said, nudging her elbow lightly. "I've seen your drawings since you were a kid. I promise I won't laugh."
It wasn't that simple. There were too many secrets hidden in those pages — quiet confessions, unspoken feelings, sketches of his hands, his smile, the way his hair fell over his forehead when he was deep in thought.
But Mingchen was looking at her with that easy smile, the one that always made her knees feel like jelly.
"Okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She flipped open to a safer page — a sketch of the street outside their building, shaded carefully with pencil strokes.
Mingchen leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. "You're really good."
"Thanks."
He reached out, turning the pages gently, like he was afraid to damage them. A portrait of Xinyi, a rough sketch of Yichen asleep on the sofa, a page filled with tiny doodles of cats.
And then —
Mingchen's hand.
She froze, heart slamming against her ribs.
He didn't say anything at first. His thumb rested lightly against the edge of the page, tracing the outline she'd drawn — the curve of his knuckles, the faint scar near his thumb from a childhood fall.
"You drew this?" His voice was soft, almost unreadable.
Liyun swallowed hard. "It's just practice."
"It's really detailed."
She couldn't breathe.
For a moment, the air between them felt different — heavier, charged with something neither of them could name.
Mingchen closed the sketchbook gently, handing it back to her. "You're talented, Liyun."
Her name, spoken so softly, so deliberately, made her heart twist painfully.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He didn't move away, didn't fill the silence with easy jokes or teasing remarks. Instead, he stayed beside her, their arms barely brushing, the quiet between them stretching long into the evening.
Liyun knew she was being foolish.
But in that stillness, with the fading light painting the sky gold and pink, it felt — just for a moment — like they were standing at the edge of something fragile and beautiful.
Something that might, one day, become more.
(End of chapter)
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— Author of 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡