She didn't know why her body moved on its own.
The moment she heard those steady footsteps, she took a step back. Her hand brushed the thin curtain by the window—and without thinking, she slipped behind it.
The curtain swayed once in the air, then fell still.
Enclosed in that narrow space, Su Rui felt like she had vanished from the world.
She pressed her back against the cold wall, fingers clutching the windowsill until her knuckles turned white. Her forehead was icy. Every muscle in her body locked tight.
She didn't dare move.
Didn't dare breathe.
The footsteps continued—steady, rhythmic, unmistakable.
The door opened with a soft creak.
"…Still like this."
Shen Yichen's voice broke the silence, low and subdued. It carried none of the sharpness she once associated with him—just a hollow weariness, as if weighed down by things unsaid.
He entered quietly. She could hear his footsteps approach the bed, then the scrape of a chair as he pulled it out and sat down.
Then, silence.
No sighs. No phone buzzes. No shuffling. Just the soft beeping of the monitors.
"If you were awake," he murmured, "you'd probably tell me I'm being overly sentimental."
His voice was softer than she remembered.
"But seeing you like this… I don't know what to say."
Behind the curtain, Su Rui held her breath. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
His voice felt warmer than she had ever known—yet farther away. Like a man standing on shore, looking at someone adrift, unable to reach them, unable to turn back.
"I always thought you were too stubborn," he continued. "You never talked about things. Never brought people up. And I never bothered to ask."
"But lately… I've started feeling like I missed something."
He paused. It wasn't for effect—it sounded like he was reaching for something, unsure if it even existed.
"I found some old recordings. Interviews where you mentioned family, but always brushed it off. I remember you once said, 'I returned my surname to them a long time ago.'"
"I didn't think much of it then. Now… I can't stop thinking about it."
Su Rui's heart began to race.
She didn't know where he was going with this, or what he might have figured out.
But the hesitation in his voice—the faint confusion, the regret—stabbed at her in places she didn't know were still raw.
"Lately, I don't know why… but one name keeps echoing in my head."
He exhaled.
"Lin…"
Her eyes flew open.
That word.
So familiar it hurt.
But she couldn't place it. Couldn't understand why it unsettled her so deeply—only that something inside her had begun to shift. A thread, unraveling.
And then—
Clink.
Her elbow brushed against the glass edge of the window.
The sound was faint.
But in a room this silent, it rang out like a bell.
She froze.
Shen Yichen went silent.
The chair creaked again—he had stood up.
Footsteps.
He was walking toward the curtain.
Toward her.
One step.
Then another.
Not fast.
But deliberate.
Su Rui didn't dare breathe. Her body tensed, rigid as stone.
The curtain fluttered slightly in the draft.
She could feel his presence, so close now—just on the other side of the thin fabric.
All he had to do was lift it.
Just a flick of the wrist—and everything would be exposed.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fingers trembling.
Not now.
Not yet.