Chapter 7: The Things We Don't Say
At exactly 8 a.m., Wei Jie walked into the company lobby with two cups of coffee in hand. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, but his eyes were clear—sharp, even. The air inside the building was overly air-conditioned, as always, and the elevator ride was silent until he pressed the button for the 18th floor.
"I shouldn't still remember how she likes her coffee," he muttered under his breath.
The meeting room door was slightly ajar. Xuan Qi was already there, adjusting the projector and preparing slides. Her profile was calm, composed. Morning sunlight spilled over her shoulder, and for a moment, time seemed to slow.
"You're on time," she said without looking at him.
"So are you." He placed the coffee on the desk beside her.
She glanced at the cup. Her expression barely shifted, but she took it anyway.
They didn't speak further. As the project timeline filled the screen, their discussion moved forward with a surprising ease. It wasn't just efficiency—it was familiarity, the kind that came from once knowing someone far too well.
"I'll handle the market research," she said.
"Okay. I'll liaise with the client." He paused. "What about the promotional video? Are you still working with Director Li?"
She hesitated. "I've nominated you to lead the creative."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"You're better at reaching people." She didn't look at him. "You used to be the heart of our script team, remember?"
That struck something deep. Wei Jie didn't answer right away.
Of course he remembered. Five years ago, he was writing the graduation play script, waiting for her in the dim backstage area each night with milk tea and words they never got to say.
"Once this is all over, we'll talk, okay?"
"I'll wait for you."
But she never came. The night ended with empty hallways and a single message: a breakup text.
"You've changed," he said quietly.
"So have you," she replied, still staring at her notes.
He watched her. "Why didn't you come that night?"
She froze for a second but didn't lift her head. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"It does to me," he said. "You never explained. I can't keep pretending nothing happened."
She finally looked at him. Her eyes were sharp, but something flickered beneath.
"My father had a heart attack. I spent the night in the emergency room. I didn't even have my phone."
The silence that followed was deafening.
He stared at her, stunned. "I… I didn't know."
"You didn't try to call me. You just disappeared. Changed your number. Moved out. I searched for you for three months."
His mouth opened, but no words came.
The misunderstanding that shaped five years of their lives suddenly felt like a cruel joke.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, voice low. "I thought you gave up."
She didn't answer. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the papers in front of her, creasing the corner.
"We need to do this project well," she said. "Let's not let emotions get in the way."
He nodded slowly.
But deep down, he knew things had shifted.
Later that day—Company Rooftop
After the meeting, they both ended up on the rooftop. It wasn't planned, but neither left.
Xuan Qi leaned against the railing, staring out over the skyline. The sun reflected off the glass buildings, casting soft gold across the horizon.
Wei Jie stood beside her. Neither of them spoke.
The wind was gentle, like it was holding its breath with them.
"Do you think we can start again?" he asked suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.
She turned slightly. "Start again as what?"
He blinked.
"As colleagues? Friends? Or…" she didn't finish, but her tone softened. "Are you sure you're not just missing who I was?"
He didn't flinch. "I miss how you used to smile. But I also like how serious you've become. I'm not chasing the past. I'm hoping… maybe, we can try again. As who we are now."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she said, "Do you know what I hated most about you before?"
He tilted his head. "What?"
"You were always one step too slow."
And then, for the first time in a long while, she smiled.
It was small. Real. Testing.
And he understood—this wasn't rejection.
It was a door. Slightly open.
He just had to be brave enough to step through it.