đź’” Chapter 10: What We Never Sai
The morning after the storm smelled like soaked concrete and regret.
Xuan Qi hadn't slept. She had laid awake the entire night, eyes locked on the ceiling, watching shadows crawl across the room like unspoken thoughts. She'd hoped the rain would wash the weight off her chest. It hadn't. It had only settled in deeper.
The kettle hissed in the kitchen. She moved slowly, her limbs heavy from exhaustion, and walked out without glancing at the man sitting on the sofa.
Wei Jie hadn't slept either. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt wrinkled and loose, his body stiff like a man trapped between choices he had no courage to make. He didn't say anything as she walked past him. He just watched, silent, as if any word would shatter whatever fragile peace hung in the air.
The kettle clicked off
She poured two cups of hot water. One she set before herself, the other across the table. She didn't look at him when she did it. She didn't have to.
He walked over, sat down, and quietly picked up the cup. His fingers brushed the handle and winced from the heat, but he didn't let go.
"You cried last night," he said. His voice was rough, careful.
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Xuan Qi didn't flinch. She gently stirred her cup, eyes downcast. "Do you still remember what I look like when I cry?"
Wei Jie froze, the cup halfway to his lips.
Of course he remembered. The girl who used to cry over broken umbrella handles and late-night horror movies, the girl who would crawl into his arms,
"I remember," he said quietly. "Every time."
"Then why did you still leave?" she asked, soft but sharp. A blade coated in velvet.
He didn't answer.
"I didn't need you to come back now," she said, still not looking at him. "Not with your guilt. Not with your silence pretending to be love."
Wei Jie's throat tightened. He had prepared a thousand apologies in his head, but none of them sounded right anymore.
"I know," he whispered. "I don't deserve to come back."
Silence again. It spread between them like smoke, heavy and choking.
Outside, the wind brushed against the windows, carrying leaves across the glass like restless thoughts.
"You know how I survived the past ten years?" she said suddenly, her voice flat. "I worked two jobs, built my company from scratch, stood in courtrooms and boardrooms while men twice my age questioned everything I did. I wasn't born cold. I just stopped having the luxury to break."
Wei Jie clenched his jaw, his voice barely audible. "I wasn't gone because I didn't care. I was gone because I didn't know how to come back."
"You were gone because you were afraid of how far I had come without you," she said.
That hit him harder than she realized.
"You don't get to say you love me after vanishing for ten years and watching me build a life from the rubble you left behind," she continued. "I waited, you know? Not for your apology. But for your face. For you to prove that you were more than just a memory."
Wei Jie stood abruptly. He couldn't sit anymore. The weight of her words felt like concrete blocks strapped to his chest.
"I didn't think you needed me anymore," he said.
"You're right," she said, rising to meet his gaze. "I don't. But I hate that I still care."
Her eyes welled, and she blinked them back, refusing to let him see her fall apart. "You don't get to waltz back in here with guilt and expect closure."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," he said, voice hoarse. "I just want you to know… I regret everything."
Slap.
The sound echoed in the room like a gunshot. Her palm had landed across his cheek—not hard, but enough to sting.
Her hand trembled. "You regret it now? Do you know what it felt like to lie in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, answering emails on my phone so my company wouldn't collapse? Do you know how it feels to faint from a fever and still have to stand up and smile at a shareholder?"
She was shaking now. "And every time I broke down in the shower or sat alone at night staring at my phone, I thought of you."
"I hated myself for it," she whispered.
He didn't move. Didn't even raise a hand to his cheek. He stood there, absorbing every word, every drop of her fury.
"I missed everything," he said, "and I know there's nothing I can say to change that."
There was a long pause.
And then, he stepped closer.
She didn't step back.
"I didn't leave to hurt you," he said, softer now. "I left because I thought I was too broken to be in your world. I thought I would only ruin what you were trying to build."
Xuan Qi gave a bitter laugh, almost a sob. "Do I look like I needed saving? Do I look like I ever wanted your pity?"
"I never pitied you," he said. "I admired you. From the moment I saw your name in the news, I—"
"Don't," she cut him off. "If you really care, don't tell me you admire me. Don't say you love me. Don't act like you know who I am now."
"I'll leave," he said, shoulders stiffening. "But I'm not running away this time. I'm going to repay what I owe you. Every bit."
She didn't stop him. Didn't move as he turned to walk toward the door.
But just as he placed his hand on the handle, she said quietly, "Don't take another ten years to come back."
He paused.
Her voice was steady now. "Next time… either come on time, or don't come at all."
He opened the door.
And walked out.
The moment the door shut behind him, the strength left her legs. She slid down against it, sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees.
Finally, she let the tears fall.
Downstairs, Wei Jie stood on the pavement, looking up at her window.
There was no light.
But he knew she was still awake.
He didn't light a cigarette. Didn't say a word.
He stood there for a long time, as if imprinting that window into memory.
Then he turned.
And left.