Michelle Lui's POV
We walked away from the crowd slowly — both of us pretending the sidewalk performance hadn't just melted our bones.
The music still lingered under my skin, buzzing like a soft warmth behind my ribs.
Steven stuffed his hands into his pockets.
I held onto my tote bag for dear life.
The marketplace slowly faded behind us, replaced by a quieter row of small artisan shops — pottery, books, handmade candles. The street here was calmer, tucked away, shaded by tall trees whose leaves swayed in the golden afternoon light.
Steven slowed his steps.
"This street…" he murmured. "I don't come here much."
I blinked at him.
"It doesn't seem like your usual hideout spot."
"It's not," he admitted. "I just thought you'd like it."
My heart tripped.
Oh.
He'd chosen a place for me. Again.
Not to open himself.
Not to show his world.
But to step into mine.
The realization warmed me in a way that felt almost dangerous.
