Chapter 17 - What He Cannot Say yet

Chapter 16: 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓗𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓢𝓪𝔂 𝓨𝓮𝓽

The days after the storm settled into something quieter.

Not quite normal.

Not quite healed.

But softer.

Like the sharp edges between Lu Zhen and Lin Xu had begun to wear down, leaving behind something gentler in their place.

They sat together again.

Walked together again.

And though neither of them mentioned the distance that had once stretched painfully between them—

both knew it had changed something.

Something irreversible.

—

That afternoon, Lu Zhen sat in the university library with Qiao Min.

Their literature presentation notes lay open between them, neatly arranged in organized stacks.

Qiao Min tapped her pen against her notebook thoughtfully.

"You're very hard to read, you know."

Lu Zhen didn't look up.

"I'm not trying to be read."

She laughed softly.

"That's exactly what I mean."

Across the library—

at another table near the window—

Lin Xu sat with Chen Rui.

Reviewing their own project materials.

Quiet.

Focused.

But every now and then—

Lu Zhen's eyes drifted there without permission.

And every time they did—

he found Lin Xu already looking back.

Not obvious.

Not long enough to be caught.

But enough.

Enough to unsettle him.

Enough to make Qiao Min notice.

Her gaze followed his.

Then returned to him slowly.

"…Oh," she said.

Lu Zhen frowned.

"What?"

Qiao Min smiled into her notebook.

"Nothing."

That answer only made him more suspicious.

—

Later, when their study session ended, Qiao Min packed her things and stood.

Then paused.

"…Can I ask something?"

Lu Zhen looked up.

"If it's quick."

She leaned slightly closer.

"Do you like Lin Xu?"

The question hit like sudden thunder.

Direct.

Blunt.

Impossible to dodge.

Lu Zhen stared at her.

"…What?"

Qiao Min raised both hands defensively.

"Relax. It's just obvious."

"It's not."

"It is."

"There's nothing like that."

Qiao Min gave him a look that clearly said she did not believe him.

Then smiled lightly.

"You should probably figure that out before someone else does."

And before he could respond—

she walked away.

Leaving Lu Zhen alone with a heartbeat suddenly too loud.

—

That evening, Lin Xu found him waiting outside the library steps.

Hands in pockets.

Expression unreadable.

But tense.

"…You stayed," Lin Xu said softly.

Lu Zhen looked away.

"I finished early."

Lin Xu nodded once.

Then they began walking home together.

The city streets glowed gold beneath streetlamps, still damp from earlier rain.

For a while—

neither spoke.

Then unexpectedly—

Lu Zhen broke the silence.

"…I don't remember much from when I was younger."

Lin Xu slowed slightly beside him.

But said nothing.

Letting the words come in their own time.

Lu Zhen's voice remained quiet.

"…Only certain parts."

His hands tightened inside his coat pockets.

"Mostly the bad ones."

Lin Xu's expression softened.

Still he did not interrupt.

"…Loud voices," Lu Zhen continued, eyes fixed ahead.

"Doors slamming. Things breaking."

His breathing shifted.

Subtle.

But strained.

"…And being told to stay quiet."

They stopped walking beneath a dim streetlight.

The night around them suddenly felt very still.

Lu Zhen swallowed hard.

As if forcing down something painful.

"…That's why I hate shouting."

A pause.

"…And why I hate being grabbed unexpectedly."

Lin Xu looked at him quietly.

Not pitying.

Not startled.

Just listening.

Which somehow made it harder.

Because kindness made honesty hurt more.

"…Was it your family?" Lin Xu asked gently.

Lu Zhen froze.

The question was careful.

Soft.

But it reached too close.

His jaw tightened.

After a long silence—

"…I can't say that part yet."

The words came out low.

Almost ashamed.

Lin Xu stepped no closer.

Only said:

"You don't have to."

Lu Zhen shut his eyes briefly.

Relief and grief crossing his face together.

And then—

very quietly—

he said the most vulnerable truth yet:

"…I'm afraid if I say it out loud, it becomes real again."

Lin Xu answered without hesitation.

"Then let it stay unreal until you're ready."

Lu Zhen opened his eyes.

Looked at him.

And in that moment—

something inside him loosened.

A knot untangling after years held too tight.

—

Meanwhile, across the city—

Zhou Kai and Song Yan sat in a nearly empty noodle shop near campus.

Steam curled between them in warm spirals.

Song Yan had barely touched his food.

Zhou Kai noticed immediately.

"You're thinking too hard again."

Song Yan sighed.

"My mother booked the transfer paperwork meeting."

Zhou Kai's chopsticks stopped midair.

"…Without asking you?"

"She assumes I'll agree."

"And will you?"

Song Yan said nothing.

Which was answer enough.

Zhou Kai leaned forward.

"…Then tell her no."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

Song Yan's voice sharpened.

"Because not everyone can just choose what they want!"

The words landed too harshly.

Both of them went silent.

Song Yan looked down immediately.

Regret flashing across his face.

"…Sorry."

Zhou Kai set his chopsticks down quietly.

Then said, softer:

"If you stay… stay because it's what you want."

Song Yan looked up slowly.

Zhou Kai held his gaze.

And this time—

there was nothing playful in his expression.

Only sincerity.

Only feeling.

"…Not because of me," Zhou Kai added.

Which made the truth between them even clearer.

Song Yan's throat tightened.

Because they both knew—

that was exactly why it mattered.

—

Later that night, Lu Zhen lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Qiao Min's words repeated in his head.

Do you like Lin Xu?

He turned onto his side sharply.

As if movement could silence thought.

But then—

he remembered the way Lin Xu had listened tonight.

Without judgment.

Without pressure.

The quiet warmth in his voice.

The steadiness of someone who never forced doors open—

but waited beside them until they were ready.

And slowly—

with frightening clarity—

Lu Zhen realized something he had been avoiding for too long:

What hurt when Lin Xu left

was not loneliness alone.

It was longing.

And longing only had one name

when it belonged to one person.