The lunch rush had slowed to a crawl, leaving the restaurant bathed in a lazy afternoon hush.
Even the ceiling fan seemed to turn slower, blades pushing the warm air in a steady rhythm.
Mianmian sat at the counter, chin resting in her palm, idly tapping her fingers against the wood.
Cheongsam was wiping down tables with the same quiet focus he always had, but there was no denying it, business was dull today.
The chime above the door rang, sharp in the silence.
A man stepped inside. His suit was a crisp, tailored black that seemed almost too sharp for their humble restaurant.
He carried a slim briefcase in one hand, his shoes gleaming under the muted light.
His eyes scanned the room, quick and purposeful, before settling on her.
"I'm looking for a Gu Mianmian," he said, his voice smooth, professional.
Mianmian straightened, brows knitting in mild suspicion. "That's me."
