Lin was no stranger to meeting collaborators. Over the years, she had learned to size people up instantly, categorizing them neatly into boxes—potential partners, casual contacts, or people she would never see again. She kept a sharp line between business and personal, clean and precise like editing a timeline. She never crossed boundaries easily, nor did she waste curiosity on strangers. Yet she was also a master at making everything feel effortless: professional warmth, perfectly timed smiles, and just enough lighthearted banter to keep the conversation flowing.
But the day Yeh walked in, the script changed.
I. The First Question — Instinct
The moment Yeh sat down, Lin sensed it.
It wasn't about her appearance or her status, but about an aura that was hard to define. She was quiet, polite, and spoke with careful measure, bearing the restraint and guardedness forged in a bustling metropolis. Yet beneath that composure lay a shyness, illogical and rare for her age, as if her emotions were bottled so tightly they occasionally seeped through the cracks. Her eyes were clear, but they held a weight, as if hiding stories she had no intention of telling.
The question came without forethought, rising from somewhere deeper than logic.
"So, do you like girls?"
The words hung in the air, and Lin felt a slight jolt herself.
This wasn't her usual style. It wasn't polite, nor was it a tactic. It was blunt, almost jarringly so. But in that moment, she knew it wasn't impulse—it was certainty. A gut feeling that this person, likely, was cut from the same cloth.
Yeh was visibly thrown. She didn't answer immediately; she couldn't even form a proper reaction. For a split second, her usual composure shattered, and that instinctive fluster was far more honest, far more vulnerable, than any prepared reply could have been.
Lin watched, choosing not to press further, but she made a mental note.
People who guarded their feelings this tightly weren't necessarily unwilling to speak; they were simply accustomed to keeping everything locked away.
II. The Second Question — Confirmation
Later that evening, at the dimly lit bistro, the atmosphere had softened, wrapping around them like a blanket. While the conversation drifted among the group, Lin found her attention inevitably circling back to one person.
Yeh listened intently, her head tilted slightly, giving everyone her full attention. But the moment Lin's eyes landed on her, she would look away almost instantly—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but impossible to miss. It wasn't just politeness; it was a retreat charged with emotion, stepping forward only to pull back again.
This push and pull spoke louder than any direct gaze ever could.
Lin knew the signs. She recognized that hesitation—the fear of being seen, the reluctance to reveal oneself, yet the inability to completely hide the attraction.
So, in a lull in the conversation, sounding as casual as ever, she asked again.
"So, do you like women?"
The tone was lighter this time, flowing naturally from the topic at hand, but the intent was clear. The first time had been instinct; this was verification—confirming that what she had seen was real.
Yeh paused. She didn't answer directly, instead deflecting gently but unmistakably. "I... rarely talk about relationship."
It was an answer.
Lin didn't push. She simply smiled and looked down, accepting the temporary silence. She knew that with people like Yeh, answers couldn't be forced. They would only reveal themselves when they were ready.
And so, Lin made a silent promise to herself.
She would wait. Wait for the day when Yeh no longer looked away.