Warm sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains.
Qingran blinked slowly.
The scent of steamed rice and ginger soup lingered faintly in the air, and beneath her cheek, the silk of her pillow felt impossibly soft.
She turned her head, and the sight that met her made her breath catch.
Feng Yizhou?
He stood at the balcony, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, his profile bathed in gold. The wind toyed with his dark hair as he looked down at something, a book maybe and then glanced back, his eyes catching hers.
He smiled.
"Lazy again?" he teased gently, walking over. "You slept right through breakfast."
She tried to sit up. "I—"
"Don't worry about it," he said, kneeling beside the bed. His hand cupped her cheek. "You're safe. You don't have to run anymore, Qingran. You're home."
Her eyes burned.
Home?
She wanted to believe it.
So badly.
"I missed you.." she whispered.
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Then stay. We have time now."
