Yuyin stepped into the marble lobby of LanEcho Designs, her heels clicking against the floor like punctuation marks of confidence she didn't fully feel. The receptionist, clearly stunned, rose quickly to greet her.
"Miss Yu… you're back?"
"I'm just here to look around," Yuyin replied with a polite smile. "Please carry on."
It felt like stepping into someone else's life. The architecture was sleek—just like she remembered from pictures—but she couldn't connect with it emotionally. She walked through the corridor slowly, nodding at passing staff, trying to find pieces of herself in their expressions.
The conference room was empty, yet her feet took her there as if on autopilot. A flash hit her—her reflection in the glass, gesturing confidently during a presentation. She blinked. Gone.
She sat in the chair at the head of the long polished table, letting her fingers trail over the surface.
"You always said you hated this table," came a voice.
Yinyin.
Yuyin turned. "Really?"
"You said it made meetings feel like funerals." Yinyin chuckled, stepping in with a cup of warm tea. "You wanted a round table instead, remember?"
Yuyin gave a soft laugh, rubbing her temple. "I don't… but somehow, that sounds like me."
Yinyin set the tea in front of her. "You used to come here when you were stressed. You'd just sit, and sometimes sketch. I found at least four paper napkins with building outlines you did mid-meeting."
"I did that?" Yuyin asked, surprised.
"You were a workaholic. A genius one, but still a workaholic," Yinyin smiled. "This was your world."
Yuyin looked around. "It feels like I'm trespassing in someone else's life."
"Then you're trespassing into your own legend," Yinyin said, nudging her shoulder. "You started this company from scratch. You designed our first three residential complexes with a sprained wrist, and once stayed up three nights straight because you didn't trust the intern with our blueprints."
"That sounds intense."
"You were intense." Yinyin grinned. "But the kind of intense that changes cities."
Yuyin sipped her tea and smiled weakly. "Yinyin… thank you. I don't say it enough."
"Don't thank me," Yinyin replied. "Just get better. Bit by bit."
They didn't talk much after that, just sat in silence. Yuyin let the space speak to her. Every flicker of light, every quiet hum of air conditioning, every desk that once held her ideas—it all whispered pieces of the puzzle she was trying to reassemble.
---
That evening, Yinyin decided to take her to the last of their three "memory spots" — an old traditional-style tea shop nestled in a quiet corner of the city, draped in lanterns and history.
The moment they walked in, the warm scent of roasted oolong and herbal blends washed over them like a long-lost lullaby.
"This place…" Yuyin paused at the door. "I feel like I… dreamed this place?"
Yinyin grinned. "You brought me here the day I cried over my failed college exam. You bribed the waiter to let us sit behind the screen with extra snacks."
Yuyin's brows furrowed as if searching for the memory. Then, she walked toward the screen and slowly sat down at the exact same spot.
Yinyin watched carefully, hopeful.
Suddenly, Yuyin blinked, then chuckled.
"I remember… you were sniffling into a meat bun."
Yinyin gasped. "Yes! Yes, I was! And you told me that grades don't define architecture because buildings don't care about math!"
"I did say that…" Yuyin murmured. "I remember your red eyes. You ordered three cups of ginger tea just for comfort."
Yinyin's face broke into a wide smile, a bit teary. "You're remembering."
"Just a little," Yuyin said softly. "It's like… music I haven't heard in years. Familiar, but faint."
They stayed there for a while, laughter echoing softly around the screen.
Until the bell above the shop's door jingled.
Yuyin looked up.
Lu Chen stood at the entrance, tall, dressed in charcoal gray. His presence immediately shifted the atmosphere—like the calm before a brewing storm. His eyes locked onto hers.
It was the first time in weeks they'd been this close again. Neither of them moved.
Yinyin stood. "Lu Chen…"
"I wasn't expecting you both," he said quietly, gaze flicking between the two. "I came to pick up the tea I ordered."
Yuyin's heart pounded. Something fluttered, deep within her. A word, a look… a trace of memory that refused to form. She clutched her cup tighter.
"Yu Yin," he said carefully, as if the sound of her name was something fragile.
She nodded once. "Lu Chen."
The awkward silence was broken only by the server bringing his order. Lu Chen took the bag, and then lingered a moment longer.
"You look better," he said, eyes warm.
"I'm trying to feel better," she replied honestly.
He gave a small nod, lips pressed tightly like there were so many things unsaid. Then he turned and left, the bell jingling once more.
Yinyin didn't speak right away. She just watched her friend, whose expression was unreadable.
"Do you feel anything when you see him?" she asked gently.
Yuyin looked down at her tea.
"…I don't know. But… something about his eyes. They made my chest hurt… and safe. All at once."