Back at the hotel after dinner, Yeh didn't go straight for bed.
She sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, leaving the lights off. The vibrant glow of Bangkok's nightscape spilled through the window, the endless stream of traffic and lights forming a flowing backdrop that seemed to distance her from her own emotions. The room was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning.
She tried to replay the dinner in her mind, but the images were fragmented, the feelings disjointed. Only a few details remained sharp.
Lin was laughing, completely at ease, fitting perfectly into any setting she was in. Eric's gaze, direct and unhidden. And herself—sitting there through it all, never truly present, merely maintaining a polite, composed expression.
Yeh realized quickly that she hadn't been her usual self tonight. Eric was also her friend by all means, she should have been the one holding the conversation together, yet she had barely participated. This loss of balance unsettled her, leaving her feeling more exhausted than anything else. She hated feeling out of control.
Leaning back against the headboard, she let out a soft breath.
After a long while, she finally acknowledged the truth to herself: Feelings, in the end, only bring trouble.
It wasn't an emotional outburst, it was a conclusion drawn from past experience.
She didn't blame anyone. No one had done anything wrong, no lines had been crossed. In fact, everything had been perfectly normal. And that was exactly why she knew where the problem lay—not outside, but within herself.
She was already paying an emotional price for something that was merely a possibility. This kind of premature investment was the very thing she had always guarded against, because once it started, it was nearly impossible to pull back.
She knew she wasn't incapable of love. On the contrary, she was highly sensitive to the spark of attraction; she recognized that quiet, persistent pull. But she couldn't afford the loss of control that followed. It wasn't the emotion itself she feared, but the shift it caused—the way it clouded judgment, blurred boundaries, and disrupted rhythm. Little by little, it eroded the stable structure she had built for her life.
Tonight's jealousy had confirmed one thing: she cared Lin deeply. And knowing that for certain brought her a strange sense of calm.
She stared at the lights outside, her thoughts slowly settling into place, forming a final decision, she talked to herself:
Pull back now, while you still can. That is the safest choice.
It wasn't escape, nor was it denial. It was simply the way she always operated: extracting herself from the emotion before it became too late.