Yeh and Lin went to Bangkok together. This time, it was for work. Fiona came along as well. The schedule was packed, the pace was relentless, and every emotion was neatly contained within the safe framework of "work."
Yeh, Lin, and Fiona worked practically around the clock—meeting directors, finalizing budgets, discussing market strategies, and sitting through endless rounds of auditions. Professionalism became the safest distance between them.
On casting day, the meeting room was bathed in harsh, cool light, the air thick with a mix of exhaustion and intense focus. Yeh and Lin sat side by side, they barely needed to speak; a silent understanding had already been built through their previous discussions. For the first few groups, they went through the procedure mechanically—recording, judging, crossing names off the list—emotionless, like running a standard filter.
Until those two girls walked in. There were no rehearsed gestures, no overacting. They simply stood there, exchanged a single glance, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. That proximity wasn't performed; it was an instinctive pause and pull—as if they both knew exactly where they belonged, yet hesitated to step any closer.
Yeh's pen stopped almost involuntarily, making a faint, unobtrusive mark on the paper. She didn't look up, but she felt the person beside her give a slight nod at the exact same moment.
"It's them," Lin whispered. The tone was soft, but utterly certain.
Yeh didn't answer, just turned the page gently. They had reached the same conclusion—not just about the actors, but about the very scent of the relationship they were looking for.
Fiona watched them and smiled. "You two have surprisingly similar taste when it comes to couples."
It sounded like a joke, but it was too accurate to deny. Yeh said nothing, Lin simply looked back down at the documents, yet both knew that this alignment went far deeper than aesthetics.
After work that evening, Fiona took them to a women-only bar. It was far quieter than the previous one, with dim lighting that seemed designed to relaxation. The walls were covered in GL movie posters, and an old film was playing on a projector, the grainy texture making time feel slow and stretched out.
Fiona was clearly in her element. Drink after drink loosened her up, her voice and energy becoming much more expressive than during the day. After sitting for a while, Yeh excused herself to the restroom and took a slow walk around the venue.
She observed almost clinically, as if studying samples. There were women with delicate features, others with cool, distant airs, and some who looked like they carried entire stories in their eyes. She paused a few times, as if testing the waters, searching for a spark.
But nothing happened. It wasn't picky, nor was it comparison. It was simply that her heart remained still. She knew it wasn't the environment; it was because a space inside her was already occupied.
When she returned to the table, Fiona had just gotten up to go to the bar counter. The corner went quiet instantly, leaving just her and Lin.
Light and shadow played across Lin's profile. She had shifted slightly closer—not deliberately, but the gap between them had shrunk beyond what was strictly "safe." Her voice dropped, low enough for only Yeh to hear.
"That question from the other time at the bar..." Lin said. "You never answered me."
Yeh's chest tightened, though her face remained impassive. "Which question?"
Lin didn't beat around the bush. She looked straight at her.
"Whether you like women or not."
There was no music to hide behind, no crowd to blend into. The question landed heavy and clear.
Yeh's first instinct was immediate: I won't tell you. The reply was already on the tip of her tongue, ready to be brushed off with a light, evasive tone. But in that split second, she caught a micro-expression in Lin's eyes—not pressure, but a quiet preparation for disappointment, as if she had already expected not to get an answer.
That detail threw Yeh off balance. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping.
"I'll tell you."
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she had crossed a line she had drawn for herself.
"In real life, I don't." The silence stretched for one heartbeat.
Lin froze, visibly taken aback, unable to respond immediately.
Yeh paused, then added quickly, "But in movies and series... yes."
It wasn't a joke, nor was it a complete lie. It was a puzzle piece she had fitted together instantly to maintain the distance. It sounded reasonable, yet it deliberately dodged the core of the matter.
Lin slowly sat up straight. She didn't push, didn't call her out, just nodded once. The warmth that had been building moments ago receded slightly, subtle but undeniable. Her reaction was controlled, even graceful. But the temperature in the space had dropped.
Almost immediately after saying it, Yeh regretted it. She didn't understand why she had answered that way. Maybe it was fear of being misunderstood, fear of being seen through, or simply an instinct to retreat behind that seemingly safe wall.
Yet she hadn't lied entirely. It was hard for her to fall in love in real life. She never defined herself by who she liked—man or woman. She was simply someone who occasionally got struck by a soul. It wasn't a constant longing, but rather being lit up by a moment, a resonance—a brief loss of control triggered by romance.
She had given an answer that allowed everything to stay exactly where it was.
Fiona returned soon after, bringing noise and laughter with her, filling the empty space again. The conversation moved on, and no one mentioned the question again.
But something had changed. It wasn't a dramatic turn, but a shift in direction. For the first time, they had both chosen to take a clear step back at the exact same moment. The distance was reset to a place that looked safer... but was actually further apart.