The rain had been falling since morning.
Not the kind that roared, but the kind that whispered — steady, quiet, patient. The kind that made the city's heart slow down.
Li Wei wiped down the counter of Ming's Brew Café for what felt like the third time in five minutes. The smell of roasted beans and warm milk filled the air, mingling with the scent of rain-soaked concrete outside. Through the glass, neon lights blurred into watercolor streaks, painting the world in soft pinks and blues.
He liked days like this.
The city was softer when it rained — less eyes, less rush, less noise.
On days like this, he could pretend the world didn't expect anything from him.
He tied his apron tighter and reached for his sketchbook, tucked between the coffee grinder and a jar of cinnamon sticks. Pages filled with pencil lines and unfinished drawings — faces, streets, cups, and sometimes, people he only saw for seconds.
Today's page held a single figure — a man sitting alone, head lowered beneath a hood, raindrops gathering on his sleeve.
He hadn't seen that man yet. He was just… drawing what he felt.
Zhao Ming, the café owner, peeked out from the back kitchen.
"Still raining?"
Li Wei nodded, without looking up. "Mm."
"Then we'll be empty for hours. Go ahead and draw. Just don't fall asleep on me again."
Li Wei smiled faintly. "That was once."
"Three times," Zhao Ming corrected, grinning, before disappearing again.
The bell above the door rang.
Li Wei didn't look up immediately. Only when the air shifted — colder, quieter — did he raise his eyes.
A man stood at the door, framed by the gray light of the rain outside.
He wore a gray hoodie under a black coat, the hood pulled low over a cap and mask. Water dripped from his sleeves as he hesitated, glancing around before stepping in.
He was tall. Not in the intimidating way, but in a way that made space feel smaller around him. Every movement seemed deliberate, like someone used to being watched — and tired of it.
Li Wei straightened, instinctively tucking his sketchbook away.
The man lowered his hood slightly, revealing dark hair damp from the rain, and eyes that seemed too beautiful to be real — sharp yet strangely sad.
"Welcome," Li Wei said softly, his voice carrying more warmth than he realized. "Table for one?"
The man nodded once. "Yeah. Somewhere… quiet, please." His voice was low, slightly rough, with a faint accent from Sichuan.
Li Wei gestured toward the window seats — the ones facing the rainy street. "There."
The man walked over, every step unhurried. Li Wei watched him — not because he wanted to stare, but because something about him felt… familiar. The curve of his jaw, the tone of his voice, the way his fingers brushed the cup when Li Wei set it down a few minutes later.
"Americano. No sugar, right?" Li Wei asked, surprised by how steady his own voice sounded.
The man tilted his head slightly, then gave a small nod. "You remembered?"
Li Wei froze.
"I— sorry, have we met before?"
The stranger smiled behind his mask, and for a moment, Li Wei swore his heart forgot to beat.
"No," the man said finally, his tone quiet but not unkind. "Just surprised you guessed right."
Li Wei tried to smile back. "Lucky guess."
The man's gaze lingered on him for a moment — like he wanted to say more — but then he looked away, staring out the window at the rain.
It wasn't until Li Wei turned back to the counter that he realized his hands were trembling slightly.
There was something haunting about that voice. Something he had heard a thousand times before, through headphones, under blankets, during nights when sleep wouldn't come.
He shook his head quickly. No. It couldn't be.
Chen Yuhan — Yuhan — was on tour in Guangzhou this week. He'd seen it online. There was no way…
Still, when the man pulled down his mask to take a sip, Li Wei caught a glimpse — pale lips, a faint mole beneath his right eye, and that same elegant curve of his face he'd memorized from countless posters.
His sketchbook nearly slipped from his fingers.
It was him.
---
Li Wei spent the next few minutes pretending to clean, but really, he was trying not to panic. His favorite person in the world — the man whose voice had saved him — was sitting ten feet away, drinking coffee like an ordinary human being.
Yuhan, China's most beloved idol, was here. In this café. In his café.
And no one else had noticed.
He didn't wear makeup or flash his smile. There were no cameras, no bodyguards, no noise. Just a man watching raindrops slide down the window, his fingers tracing invisible lines on the glass.
Li Wei thought, He looks lonely.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But every time he tried, the words caught in his throat.
Finally, Zhao Ming came out, whispering, "Li Wei, do you see who that is—"
"I know," Li Wei whispered back, eyes wide.
"Don't make it obvious."
"I'm not!"
"You're staring."
Li Wei turned away so fast he almost hit the espresso machine.
---
Time passed quietly. The rain eased into a drizzle, the café lights growing softer as evening crept in. A few customers came and went, but Yuhan stayed, nursing his coffee like it was the only thing holding him to this world.
At one point, Li Wei noticed Yuhan glancing toward the sketchbook left open near the counter. His pencil lines had captured the man from before — the hoodie, the rain, the sadness.
Yuhan stood and walked over, his shadow falling across the page.
"You drew this?"
Li Wei froze. "Ah… yes."
"It's me."
Li Wei looked up, startled. "No, I mean—it's someone who looked like you—"
Yuhan smiled, soft and tired. "It's okay." He studied the drawing for a long moment, then said quietly, "You saw it right."
Li Wei blinked. "Saw what?"
"The loneliness."
For a second, their eyes met. The sound of rain outside faded. The café, the city, everything else — it all fell away.
There was only that look — one filled with recognition neither could explain.
Then Yuhan broke the silence.
"What's your name?"
"Li Wei."
"Li Wei," Yuhan repeated softly, like he was testing the sound of it. "Thank you for the coffee."
He reached into his coat, pulled out a small concert ticket — glossy, new — and slid it across the counter.
"Tomorrow night. Backstage pass."
Li Wei stared. "I— I can't—"
"Don't say no yet."
Yuhan smiled — the kind that felt like sunlight after months of gray. "Sometimes, it's okay to be lucky."
And then he was gone.
The bell chimed, the door closed, and the rain began again.
Li Wei stood there for a long time, heart pounding, staring at the ticket.
The words glittered faintly under the café light:
"Yuhan: The Moonlight Tour — Beijing, VIP Pass."
And beneath it, a handwritten note:
> Thank you for seeing me.
---
End of Chapter 1