When they met again the next day, both had returned to their perfect equilibrium.
Lin smiled with her usual brightness, her tone was natural and easy, as if nothing had happened. Yeh, was also back to her default state—rational, poised, and perfectly measured.
They spoke, nodded, and exchanged details within the same space, everything was flowing so smoothly that there wasn't a single crack in the facade. If not for the lingering warmth they each carried inside, last night could easily have been dismissed as nothing more than ordinary caretaking.
A faint, indefinable sadness lingered in Lin's heart, thin like a thread—never broken, but always present.
As for Yeh, the moment she saw Lin, her heartbeat gave an involuntary, traitorous flutter. She realized more clearly than she had expected: those feelings hadn't vanished just because she had spent a night trying to process them rationally.
Today's schedule involved location scouting with the director, line producer and the rest of the team.
As the car pulled away from the city center, the streets grew sparse, gaving way to sprawling fields. Greenery stretched out before them, occasionally broken by the glint of water flashing past. The cabin fell quiet, leaving only the low hum of the engine.
Yeh and Lin sat side by side.
Yeh turned her gaze toward the window, pretending to watch the scenery, but her peripheral vision kept drifting back to the person beside her. She wanted to say something, yet found there was no suitable starting point. It had been a long time since she felt this way—someone usually so articulate, yet suddenly unable to find the right words.
This silence made her uneasy.
It was Lin who spoke first.
"Yesterday... was it you, or Fiona who helped me remove my makeup?" She asked though she already knew the answer.
She said it casually, staring straight ahead without looking at Yeh.
Yeh paused for a second before understanding dawned on her. She smiled, a hint of shyness coloring her tone. "It was me. I was worried you'd feel uncomfortable sleeping with it on. I guess I'm a bit obsessive about these things. Sorry."
She downplayed it deliberately, as if trying to dim the warmth inherent in that memory.
Lin turned her head to look at her, holding her gaze for a beat, then smiled softly.
"There have been so many times when I came home exhausted, and I'd think... it would be so nice if someone could do that for me." Her voice was low. "I never thought it would actually happen."
Yeh looked at the road ahead, not turning her head, but simply replied, "Then I'm honored to have granted your wish."
She bit back the question that rose instantly to her lips: What about Jing? Hasn't she ever done that for you?
The car continued onward, and they naturally shifted to other topics—work schedules, shooting rhythms, trivial matters. The conversation flowed easily, the rhythm steady, like old friends.
Yeh silently told herself: This is good enough. She knew well that being friends with someone like Lin was, in itself, a precious thing to hold onto. Yet she also knew the truth she had learned from experience: shouldn't try to be friends with someone you love.
But for now, this was all she could do: not reach out, not invest extra emotion, simply contain everything within the safe definition of "friendship."
By evening, Fiona suggested they have dinner together at a restaurant she had booked, located right by the Chao Phraya River, directly opposite Wat Arun.
The venue was built against the water, facing the temple directly. The sun was setting, casting its rays from behind the spires, the light softened and polished until it felt like silk, spreading gently over the surface of the river. The water rippled, turning the gold into liquid movement, as if the entire river was breathing slowly.
As soon as they sat down, Fiona began recounting funny stories from the day, her tone was animated and fast-paced, keeping the laughter coming. She had a gift for keeping any situation light and relaxed.
Yeh felt herself unwinding. She was always grateful for Fiona's presence—her openness and directness prevented emotions from being magnified out of proportion, and saved them from getting lost in overthinking.
Yeh leaned back in her chair, though her eyes kept drifting toward the window. She had always thought sunsets were among the most romantic things in the world. And right now, she and Lin were sitting at the same table, watching the very same sunset. That fact alone felt complete.
"It's so romantic," Yeh whispered.
Fiona followed her gaze and smiled. "Every time you come to Bangkok, you have a new experience."
"Yeah," Yeh nodded. "It's always different."
"So what's the best part of this trip?" Fiona asked casually.
Without thinking, Yeh answered, "Having dinner and watching the sunset by the river with you guys."
As she spoke, she looked up, her eyes meeting Lin's.
Their gazes collided in the air, neither looking away.
In that instant, the setting sun fell perfectly on Lin's profile, softening her features, making her look quieter and more serene than usual.
"You are honestly the most romantic person I know," Fiona laughed.
Yeh smiled back. "I'm much more realistic now."
She paused, then added, "I used to have all kinds of impractical ideas about romance."
She didn't elaborate, but she knew exactly what she meant—how much of it had been one-sided effort, and how much had been expectations that were never met.
"Like what?" Lin asked suddenly.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it made Yeh pause.
Yeh thought for a few seconds. "I used to be obsessed with sunsets. When I was in Europe, I would rush to high places like the top of a church exactly on time just to catch one. My friends called me the sunset chaser."
She smiled faintly. "I'm not that obsessive anymore. If I see it, great. If not, it's okay too."
"The biggest change these years," Yeh said, "is probably learning to let go of obsessions."
Lin didn't respond immediately. She just looked at Yeh, her gaze more intense than before, as if she were trying to understand every single word on a deeper level.
Fiona then steered the conversation toward her own love life, talking about her current relationship and past ones. She was always so open—moving closer when she liked someone, walking away when she didn't—never dragging things out.
Yeh listened quietly, not interrupting. Fiona knew her well and never pushed her about her private life; she understood Yeh's past and respected her boundaries.
As for this new, unnamed emotion Yeh was feeling for Lin, she had no intention of telling anyone. Perhaps she wanted to keep it for herself, or perhaps she already sensed deep down that it would never become reality. If that was the case, it didn't need to be defined or recorded. Things that remain unnamed are often the easiest to keep safe.
Lin participated too, offering her opinions occasionally, her views on love still direct and honest. But throughout the evening, she never mentioned anyone specific in her life.
Yeh noticed, but said nothing.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the river shifted from gold to a deep, dark glow, and lights along the bank began to flicker on one by one.
Their conversation continued, easy and natural, nothing requiring awkward explanation.
But inside, Yeh had quietly stored away a new memory. A moment of closeness that needed no conclusion, yet was perfect and complete in itself.