Early the next morning, sunlight streamed diagonally through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft golden haze across the floor and stretching all the way into the kitchen, bathing the entire space in a clean, quiet warmth.
Yeh was already up. The faint sound of sizzling oil from the kitchen came. In the frying pan, the edges of two eggs were curling gently, turning a perfect golden hue, while sausages beside them darkened slowly to a rich brown. There was a soft pop as toast sprang from the toaster. She moved at an unhurried pace, each motion was steady and precise, as if carrying out a plan she had long imagined.
In fact, Yeh had woken very early. She hadn't gone back to sleep, but had lain there for a while, mentally going through every step of this breakfast. She had always believed that two people sharing a simple meal together in bright morning light was the kind of scene that only existed in romantic movies—that kind of effortless intimacy, quiet and unforced, felt more genuine than any grand romantic gesture.
She had never imagined that one day, this scene would become part of her own life.
Just then, the guest room door opened softly. Lin stood in the doorway, looking as though she hadn't quite fully emerged from sleep yet—her hair was slightly tousled, her eyes were still hazy and soft. She didn't step out immediately, but leaned against the frame, watching Yeh in the kitchen.
The air was filled with the warm, inviting scent of butter and freshly brewed coffee.
Lin watched for a moment before speaking. "You've been up so early?"
Yeh turned around, and her movements paused for a heartbeat. The morning light fell perfectly behind Lin, wrapping her in a faint, glowing halo that made her features look incredibly soft.
"Awake?" Yeh slid the eggs onto a plate, keeping her tone casual. "Do you want coffee?"
Lin nodded, her voice still husky with sleep. "Yes, please."
Yeh turned to the cabinet where rows of cups stood neatly lined up. Her hand hovered over the front ones for a moment, as if choosing, before reaching all the way to the back and taking out two.
They were simple white ceramic mugs. When placed side by side, the patterns painted on them aligned perfectly to form a complete heart.
She set them on the table smoothly, as if it were nothing special. Only she knew that this was the first time she had ever brought them out. In the past, it had always felt too soon, using this pair if cus like a moment she was waiting for but hadn't quite reached.
As the coffee machine hummed, Yeh stood watching intently—tamping the grounds, extracting the espresso. Dark liquid flowed slowly into the cup, followed by warm milk and silky foam, until a perfectly shaped latte was ready.
When Lin finished washing up and sat down, her gaze fell immediately on the table. The coffee, eggs, sausages, and toast were arranged with care, simple yet thoughtfully presented, carrying an air of quiet ceremony.
Lin smiled. "This is quite a feast."
Yeh picked up her own mug and sat opposite her.
"Just something quick," she said lightly. "Next time, I'll take you out for a proper meal."
Lin reached for her coffee, but paused the moment her hand touched the handle.
She looked closely at the pattern on her cup, then shifted her gaze to the one Yeh was holding.
Side by side, the two halves fit together perfectly, forming a single, complete heart.
Lin didn't mention it, just smiled softly, as if tucking this small detail away in her heart.
Yeh bit into her toast, pretending not to notice at all.
For a moment, the air was quiet—not awkward, but thick with a subtle, unspoken tension.
After a while, Lin spoke again. "I'll be here for about a week this time."
Yeh looked up. "Oh?"
"I need to find a place to live first," Lin said slowly. "Then I'll go back to pack my things and arrange for my belongings to be shipped over." She took a slow sip of coffee, her tone calm and steady. "Basically... I'm moving here for good."
Yeh nodded in understanding. She knew exactly what this process felt like. When she had first moved to this city, she had spent entire days running from one viewing to another, seeing several apartments one by one, all by herself. It was only at night, returning to an empty room, that the reality would suddenly sink in—this is where my life is going to be from now on. She remembered the quiet, persistent loneliness that had lingered during those days.
Yeh lifted her head, her voice soft but clear. "I'll help you look for a place this week."
Lin looked at her, clearly surprised. "Don't you have to work?"
Yeh smiled. "I don't work twenty-four hours a day."
She paused, then added gently, "Besides, I know this city better."
She said it casually, but there was an underlying sincerity in her words. She simply didn't want Lin to have to go through it alone—running around, viewing empty apartments, facing that quiet loneliness—just as she had before.
Lin didn't answer right away. She glanced down at the mugs resting on the table, then looked back up at Yeh, her expression was softening slowly, melting into something warm and tender.
"Okay," she said simply.
Then, as if remembering something, she smiled lightly and added, "In that case, I really won't stand on ceremony."
Yeh took a sip of her coffee, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from lifting in a quiet smile.
Sunlight flooded the dining table, illuminating the two mugs standing side by side. Between them, the joined heart was clear and bright, glowing softly in the golden light.