After breakfast, they cleared the table and restored the kitchen to its usual neatness. Yeh grabbed her car keys.
"Let's go."
She hadn't arranged an agent or screened properties in advance. She was simply there, quietly accompanying her. Lin had already handled all the arrangements herself—the real estate agent, the schedule, and the addresses were all clearly set.
The first apartment was in a brand-new building.
The agent was already waiting at the entrance and guided them through every detail fluently—location, facilities, property management, the café and gym downstairs—each point explained perfectly, as if she had recited the same script countless times before.
And the place was indeed impressive.
Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with sunlight, offering a wide, unobstructed view. The living room was bare and unfurnished, spotlessly clean and untouched, carrying that faint, unfamiliar feeling of a space not yet filled with life.
Lin walked slowly through every room—from the living area to the bedroom, then the kitchen—before finally stopping by the window to look out at the street below.
Yeh stayed near the doorway, not moving closer.
She didn't interrupt or offer suggestions, letting Lin experience the space on her own .
When the agent finished her introduction and the room fell quiet, Lin turned to look at her. "What do you think?"
Yeh considered it carefully before answering honestly, without trying to please her. "It's good."
She paused for a split second and added, "But... it doesn't feel like a place you'd live in."
The agent blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting such a response.
Lin, however, smiled. "Why do you say that?"
Yeh walked to the center of the room, glancing around. "It feels too much like a display home," she said calmly.
She looked directly at Lin. "It doesn't feel like you."
It was a simple statement, stripped of unnecessary words, yet perfectly accurate.
Lin didn't reply immediately; she just looked back at Yeh.
She had felt the exact same way herself, though she hadn't said it aloud. The apartment was beautiful—but it didn't make her want to stay.
Finally, she nodded at the agent. "Let's see the next one."
The second property was situated along a quiet street. The building was older, lacking the sleek polish and grandeur of the previous one, but the moment they stepped inside, they noticed the balcony lined with lush green plants, and the air carried the faint warmth of a home that had been lived in.
The owner, a young woman, greeted them warmly. "I used to live here myself," she explained casually. "I'm moving to another city for work, so this is the first time I'm renting it out."
The apartment wasn't large, but it felt incredibly comfortable.
Sunlight slanted in from the balcony across the wooden floorboards, which retained a gentle warmth. In one corner stood a small bookshelf, still holding a few books—lingering traces of a life once lived there.
Lin walked out onto the balcony and looked around.
"This is really nice," she said simply.
Yeh leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She rarely had the chance to observe Lin like this. At work, Lin was always sharp, rational, and decisive, knowing exactly how to move forward. But right now, standing on the balcony, looking at the plants and the light, she seemed like someone carefully choosing where to build her future life.
Lin turned back. "What do you think?"
Yeh walked inside, glancing briefly into the kitchen and scanning the living room.
"It's good," she said. "Though... it's a bit small."
Lin raised an eyebrow playfully. "You think so?"
Yeh smiled softly. "It's not like I'm the one moving in."
Her tone remained casual as she added, "Besides, aren't you and Jing planning to live together? It might feel a little cramped for two people."
She said it lightly, as if it were nothing more than a passing observation, yet Lin caught the flicker of emotion that crossed Yeh's eyes—something faint and quick, almost too fast to be seen.
Before she could look closer, Yeh had already turned away to gaze out the window, as though she had just spoken her mind without thinking much of it.
Lin didn't press the matter.
By the time they finished viewing the apartments, it was already late afternoon. The air was thick with the city's characteristic warmth and humidity.
"Wait a second," Yeh said suddenly.
Lin looked at her. "What is it?"
Without explaining, Yeh walked into a nearby convenience store and quickly returned, holding two bottles of water.
She handed one to Lin. "It's really hot today—I'm sweating buckets. You should drink some water too."
Lin took the bottle, her fingers brushing against the cool surface, and smiled softly.
They walked slowly back toward the car beneath the shade of the trees. Their shadows stretched long on the pavement, broken and fragmented by the leaves overhead.
Suddenly, Lin asked, "You've been running around with me all day. Aren't you tired?"
"Not at all," Yeh replied instantly.
Then she added, "I didn't have anything important to do anyway."
Her voice was light, but there was no attempt to hide the simple truth—she was happy to be there.
Lin didn't ask further. She just watched Yeh's profile as they walked.
Yeh was never one to say sweet or heart-fluttering things. She rarely expressed her emotions openly, nor did she make grand promises. But she always remembered what mattered to you; she cleared her schedule for you; she was there to accompany you through even the most ordinary tasks, helping you complete them step by step.
It was a kind of gentleness that was quiet, unassuming, and perhaps a little clumsy—but undeniably real.
In that moment, Lin finally understood why, from the very first time they met, she had instinctively felt at ease with Yeh, seeing her as someone reliable and safe. Because Yeh never forced her way in or drew attention to herself.
Instead, she was always there—quietly, steadily—like a promise:
Whenever you turn around, I'll be right here.