He thought to himself, So even someone as calm and composed as I am has a bit of vanity after all. I need to feel appreciated, too.
The residential complex was lit up in the early evening, not ablaze with lights but still warm and inviting. Occasionally, cars passed by, disappearing into the night. From afar, the soft laughter of children echoed.
As they approached the entrance to Section F, Shen Xi Fan caught something out of the corner of her eye and frowned slightly—Yan Heng?
They were quite far apart, separated by the main road of the complex and an iron fence. He leaned against a black BMW, a cigarette in his hand glowing faintly in the dark. The interplay of the cigarette’s ember and the dim streetlights illuminated his handsome face, now tinged with melancholy.
He stared silently at Shen Xi Fan and He Su Ye, the curling smoke distorting his view, as though lost in a fleeting illusion.
But He Su Ye didn’t notice. He looked at Shen Xi Fan, her dazed expression drawing a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently ruffling her hair, he teased, “Why are you spacing out all the time, little girl?”
Snapping out of her thoughts, Shen Xi Fan clumsily reached for the stack of documents. “It’s nothing, really. The cold must have frozen my brain. This is my stop—give me the documents. I’ll bring them to you tomorrow.”
He Su Ye helped straighten the papers for her, his gaze sharp and cool like the stars on a winter night, yet carrying a hint of affection. “It’s okay if you don’t finish. Just make sure you rest well.”
She forced a smile. “No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
He nodded, waved her off, and started back the way he came. Shen Xi Fan watched his figure gradually blend into the night, his calm and composed demeanor radiating a quiet strength that made her feel safe.
Her heart stirred. How could such a good man not have a girlfriend?
Her gaze shifted lightly to the man by the car. His face, his posture, his aura—it was all too familiar. So familiar, in fact, that after three years, it now felt strangely foreign.
When did he start smoking?
Why did he change his surname? Why did someone thriving in the U.S. suddenly return to China? Why does he keep appearing in front of me? And why is he waiting outside my house?
An inexplicable resentment rose within her. She felt uneasy about Yan Heng’s ambiguous attitude, yet shamefully, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
She watched as he flicked away his cigarette and stepped through the small gate. Her heart skipped a beat, leaving her completely at a loss. Instinctively, she turned and ran.
Reaching the second floor, she stopped to listen but heard no sounds behind her. Letting out a long breath, she reached for the motion-sensor light. Before she could touch it, a hand grabbed her arm—firm, unyielding.
Startled, the stack of documents slipped from her grasp, scattering white pages down the stairs. The papers fluttered like snow in the cold wind, the sound sharp and crisp, echoing eerily in the stairwell.
The scene felt hauntingly familiar.
Shen Xi Fan fought the urge to look back, desperately twisting her arm as she pleaded, half helpless, half imploring, “Don’t do this. Let go! The documents are all over the floor!”
“Who was that man just now?” Yan Heng’s tone was self-righteous, oblivious to the jealousy laced within his words.
Anger flared in her chest, a mix of grievance and frustration. She turned to face him, meeting the unspoken anger and unwillingness in his eyes. Without thinking, she retorted, “What does it have to do with you? What right do you have to ask me that? Let go! I said, let go!”
But instead of letting go, Yan Heng pulled her into his arms. His familiar scent, now tinged with the temptation of tobacco, enveloped her. For a moment, her empty hands hovered awkwardly, unsure where to go.
She was too tired—too drained to push him away or to muster the courage to embrace him back.
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