The knock came late.
Ling didn't look up at first.
"Ma'am," the assistant said carefully, standing just inside the door, "the principal sent over the absence applications. He asked that they be forwarded to you for record."
Ling's pen paused.
Her eyes lifted slowly.
"Put them there," she said flatly, nodding at the desk.
The assistant obeyed, placing a thin stack of files near the edge. She hesitated, sensing the air in the room—tight, coiled—but said nothing and left quietly.
The door closed.
Ling stared at the files.
She didn't move for a second. Then another.
Finally, she reached out.
One by one, she flipped through them—names she didn't care about, excuses she barely read. Her expression stayed controlled, bored even, until—
Her fingers stopped.
The name stared back at her.
Rhea Nior.
Ling's breath hitched.
Her eyes dropped to the signature. Familiar handwriting. Too familiar. Sharp, slightly slanted. The same hand that used to tug at her sleeve, that used to write notes on Ling's palm during lectures.
Her jaw tightened.
"She didn't come," Ling said aloud, voice low and incredulous. "She didn't even look at me."
The room felt smaller.
Her fingers curled slowly around the file.
"She went to the principal," Ling muttered, heat rising in her chest. "You went around me."
The paper crinkled under her grip.
Anger surged fast—hot, humiliating, uncontrollable.
"So that's it?" she snapped to the empty room. "That's how much I matter now?"
She stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"I waited," she said sharply, voice rising. "I sat here like an idiot."
She lifted the file, shaking slightly.
"I waited for you."
The words echoed back at her, ugly and exposed.
Her control shattered.
Ling hurled the file across the room.
It hit the wall with a sharp slap, papers exploding outward, fluttering down like useless snow.
"Damn it!" she shouted.
Her fist slammed into the desk.
Once.
Twice.
"Coward," she snarled, breath uneven. "You couldn't even come fight me."
She dragged a hand through her hair, glasses pushed up roughly.
"You always do this," Ling said bitterly. "Run. Hide. Pretend you don't care."
Her chest rose and fell hard.
"I told myself I hated you," she said, voice breaking despite herself. "I told myself I just wanted you here so I could hurt you back."
She laughed once—sharp, hollow.
"But you didn't even give me that."
Her eyes flicked to the scattered pages on the floor.
Rhea's application lay face-up, innocent, formal, detached.
Ling walked over slowly and stared down at it.
"So neat," she murmured. "So clean."
Nothing in it showed how Rhea's lips had gone pale in her arms. Nothing about shaking fingers or bleeding noses or whispered taunts meant to stay awake.
Just dates.
Just signatures.
Just distance.
Ling crouched suddenly, grabbing the paper, crushing it in her fist.
"You think this ends it?" she demanded under her breath. "You think paperwork cuts us apart?"
Her voice dropped, raw now.
"I hate you," she whispered again.
The words tasted like a lie.
She straightened slowly, forcing herself back into stillness. Her face hardened, walls slamming back into place.
Fine.
If Rhea wanted distance—
Ling would give her distance.
Cold.
Professional.
Unforgiving.
She returned to her desk, smoothing her blazer with deliberate precision, breathing until her hands stopped shaking.
When the assistant later passed by and glanced in, all she saw was Professor Ling Kwong—composed, terrifyingly calm, eyes fixed on her lecture notes as if nothing had happened.
No one saw the crumpled paper hidden.
No one heard the quiet vow Ling repeated to herself, teeth clenched:
You won't break me again.
And no one knew that beneath the rage, beneath the pride, Ling was already hurting—because Rhea had chosen not to come.
And that hurt far more than any fight ever could.
That evening, Ling returned to the mansion.
The gates opened smoothly. The gravel crunched under the tires. Everything was the same—too same. Too controlled. Too familiar.
Ling stepped inside, removed her shoes, straightened her blazer like nothing had happened.
Like her chest wasn't still tight.
Like her hands hadn't shaken earlier.
Dadi was already in the living room, seated comfortably with a shawl draped over her shoulders. Rina lounged on the arm of the sofa, scrolling through her phone, legs crossed lazily.
Both of them looked up the moment Ling entered.
"Oh," Dadi said lightly, eyes sharp despite her tone. "You're back early."
Ling nodded once. "Classes ended."
Rina tilted her head, smirking faintly. "Ended… or escaped?"
Ling shot her a look. "Don't start."
Rina laughed softly. "I didn't even say anything."
Dadi did.
"You look like you swallowed a nail," Dadi observed calmly. "Did the university survive your mood today?"
Ling moved toward the side table, poured herself water, drank it slowly. Her throat felt dry.
"Everything was fine," she said evenly.
Dadi hummed, unconvinced. "Funny. Because whenever everything is fine, you look like this."
Ling stiffened. "Like what?"
"Like you're holding a storm inside your ribs," Dadi replied, unapologetic.
Rina's smile faded slightly. She studied Ling more closely now—the rigid shoulders, the way she hadn't loosened her tie, the way her jaw kept tightening for no reason.
"So," Rina said casually, "did she come?"
Ling's glass stopped halfway to the table.
"What?" she asked coldly.
Rina shrugged. "The student you were waiting for. The one you kept pretending not to wait for."
Ling's eyes flashed. "I don't wait for anyone."
Dadi chuckled. "You waited."
Ling turned sharply. "Dadi."
Dadi raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No waiting. Just… intense staring."
Rina snorted. "I told you she'd avoid you."
Ling's fingers curled around the glass.
"She submitted her application," Ling said flatly.
Rina blinked. "Oh."
Dadi tilted her head. "To you?"
Ling's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"No."
Silence followed.
Rina slowly straightened. "She went to the?"
Ling didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Dadi sighed softly, leaning back. "Stubborn girl."
Ling laughed once—sharp, humorless. "You always say that like it's a compliment."
"It is," Dadi said gently. "Just not for you."
Ling turned away, walking toward the window. Outside, the lights in the garden were coming on, warm and soft. The world looked peaceful.
She felt anything but.
"She didn't even look at me," Ling said quietly. "She avoided me."
Rina crossed her arms. "And that surprised you?"
Ling snapped back, eyes blazing. "Yes."
Rina held her gaze. "Because you wanted her to fight you."
Ling didn't deny it.
"I wanted her to come," Ling said, voice low, restrained. "Even if it was to argue. Even if it was to say she hates me."
Dadi watched her carefully.
Ling swallowed.
"It felt like being erased," she admitted bitterly.
Rina winced. "Ouch."
Ling scoffed, forcing indifference back into her posture. "It doesn't matter. We're done."
Dadi raised an eyebrow. "You behave like this because it doesn't matter?"
Ling's jaw clenched. "That's irritation."
Rina laughed outright. "You're adorable when you lie."
Ling shot her a murderous glare. "I am not adorable."
Dadi smiled softly. "You're hurting."
Ling turned sharply. "No."
Dadi didn't push. She just patted the seat beside her.
Ling hesitated.
Then sat.
For a moment, no one spoke.