(Michelle Lui's POV)
THE SILENCE THAT MEANT SOMETHING
The street slowly emptied as groups of tourists drifted off. Shopkeepers lit lanterns. The sky deepened from gold to honey to a soft orange.
We walked past a stall selling handmade bookmarks.
Past a chocolatier handing out samples.
Past a musician tuning a violin.
Steven didn't talk.
He just kept pace beside me — matching my steps the way he always did, intentionally or by instinct.
But something about him was different.
Quieter.
Tense.
Like he was holding something inside.
Something heavy.
Something that didn't belong there anymore.
Finally, when we reached a small pedestrian bridge overlooking the river, I stopped.
He stopped too.
We stood there — waiting for the other to begin.
But I was tired of being the one who broke the silence.
So I didn't.
I looked at the water.
He looked at me.
The wind blew softly.
And then—
"Michelle," he said, voice low, "I need to say something."
My heart stilled.
Not raced.
