"You ought to start paying attention to the rumors since I do.
In my mind, the words exploded like a firework exploding underwater—sharp and silent all at once.
I thought for a moment that I had misheard him. I might have been exhausted. Three hours of staring at equations could have burned my brain. The untouchable genius Zhou Mingyu didn't say that.
However, he had. His voice was too steady and too clear, and the silence that followed now made me feel like lead.
I gazed at him. He didn't make any blinks.
I parted my lips. Nothing was revealed. I made another attempt. "What—what are you saying?"
It sounded like a man losing control of his vocal cords, and it was embarrassingly high-pitched.
Zhou Mingyu remained unflinching. With his pen still in hand, his posture straight, and his eyes fixed on me with an unnerving calm, he sat across from me at his immaculate desk. His sharp features were softened by the slight golden glow of his desk lamp, but they remained piercing.
"You're not hearing."
The tightness in my chest increased. He had stated it so firmly that it sounded like I had failed a test.
"Yes, I am!" "Blurting," I said. In fact, I'm paying close attention. Too difficult. Why don't I—uh—get it because of that?
My stomach turned over, and his brows furrowed just a little.
Before I could stop them, words suddenly came out. Your name is Zhou Mingyu! The god of campus! The kind of guy about whom fanfiction is written! And I'm—me! Chen Lin! The guy who fell in front of the vending machine yesterday after tripping over his backpack straps!
There was a terrible silence.
I wanted to rip my face off when I realised what I had just admitted.
My whole body became hot. I reached for my notebook and struck my face with it. "Don't remember anything I said. Act as though you were unaware of that. Actually, act as though I don't exist. This discussion never took place.
The notebook muffled my voice, but my heartbeat remained unabated.
The quiet lasted long enough for me to peek out.
He continued to keep an eye on me.
Not mocking, not smirking, not cold. Be steady. As if he could spend the entire night there, waiting for me to pass out from the pressure of his stare.
I groaned and dropped the notebook. "All right, all right. You prevail. My brain isn't designed to handle cryptic iceberg talk at—"I checked my phone"—9:37 p.m. on a Tuesday, so just tell me what you really mean."
He took a while to respond. Instead, he moved, putting his hand lightly over his chin. The pose was natural, aristocratic, and reminiscent of a painting. He continued to stare at me with dark, unreadable eyes before saying,
"Yes."
My eyes blinked. "Yes, but what?"
"Yes, I care."
The world swayed. My spirit departed from my body, applied for early retirement, and flew to Antarctica.
"What?!" With my voice breaking like a teenager's, I screamed.
"Yes," he said again.
Not a second thought. Do not blush. No embarrassment. Just a serene assurance, as though he were declaring that the sky was blue.
My ears roared with heat as I gaped at him. "You cannot simply say that as if it were—as if it were normal!"
"It is typical."
Perhaps for you! It's—to me! Helplessly, I thrashed my arms. It's similar to being informed that the sun harbours feelings for the moon! Or—or that cats started paying rent all of a sudden!
He twitched the corner of his mouth. No, not quite a smile. The slightest betrayal of amusement, however.
It was driving me crazy.
I reached for my phone in a desperate attempt to interrupt the moment. "Look! There are messages! It's people who text me! Completely normal, most definitely not in a panic!
I was about to tap the screen when a hand moved across the desk.
The hand of Zhou Mingyu.
His fingers grounded me like an anchor as they closed over mine, softly but firmly.
I stopped.
His skin's warmth permeated me; it was just right—not too hot, not too cold—to make my arm tingle.
His voice was quiet as he said, "You flee too easily."
This time, his voice lacked sharpness. It pressed against my ears like velvet, low and measured.
The space between us made the room seem smaller. The desk lamp's hum and the clock's ticking both dimmed. All that remained was the steady heat in his eyes and the weight of his hand.
My heart trembled violently, as though it were trying to escape.
"I-I don't run!" As if I had been burned, I squeaked and jerked my hand back. "My jogging is strategic!"
Quiet.
Then he let out a sound that was like a crack in the ice.
A faint chuckle.
Not making fun of you. Not too loud. Only a gentle puff of air, barely perceptible but unquestionably genuine.
I gazed. I lost my train of thought. Mingyu Zhou. I laughed at myself.
I felt like screaming. I made an effort to blend in. To commit the precise form of his lips when they curved like that to memory, I wanted to go back in time and play it again in slow motion.
However, before I could completely explode, my phone began to buzz wildly on the desk.
I grabbed it as if it were a lifeline.
Qiao Rui at 9:39 p.m. Are you still alive, bro? Has the iceberg eaten you?
I almost misplaced the phone.
He did it, of course—the one individual who is sure to interrupt at the most inconvenient time.
Zhou Mingyu read the message upside down by bending just enough. His mouth curled once more.
"He is very concerned."
With a shove of the phone, I corrected, "He meddles a lot."
"He might be aware that you need it."
The words struck more forcefully than they ought to have. I felt my throat constrict.
I scoffed under my breath. Yes, I'm going to sue you if you text him back.
With the glimmer of a smile still present, he cocked his head. "Will you prevail?"
"No."
We returned to our studies, but we were unable to focus.
I could see him observing me every time I looked up. Not overtly, but covertly. My breath caught each time our hands touched as we reached for the same book or pen, as if he were studying a puzzle.
The silence was uncomfortable. The silence wasn't painful. Something like the crackle before a storm, Something alive and charged.
What's the worst part?
There was a tiny, betraying part of me that didn't detest it.
The page's numbers swam. Formulas became unintelligible scrawls that blended into one another.
I didn't understand them, that's not why. Usually, I could take on math head-on because it was my battlefield. However, at this moment, each line of ink on the paper rearranged itself into a single sentence, illuminating my brain like neon:
"Because I do."
I gave my temples a rub. "I have trouble concentrating."
The person across from me, Zhou Mingyu, didn't even look up.. "So stop pushing it."
I blinked at him. "You—you can say that? Aloud? As you, Mr First-In-Class, I got two hours of sleep, and I still got everything right?
Finally, he looked up from his notes and said, "I can see it because it's true."
That calm tone once more. That steady gaze. Instead of irritating me, it made me feel as though a string was being pulled tighter and tighter inside my chest.
"I…" I hesitated, words catching in my throat. "I don't have that kind of… freedom. If I stop, I get left behind." He studied me. "Who are you competing against?"
My chest squeezed. "Everyone. You. Myself.
The terms slipped out before I could swallow them back. I felt vulnerable and nude.
For a moment, not a word was spoken. The desk lamp glowed between us, throwing shadows across his sharp features.
"What do you think is causing you to feel this way?" SoftHe asked u to fall behind?" And that was that. I never wanted that question to be asked.
I moved and drummed my fingers erratically on the desk. And my throat felt parched.
"Because...It began, then came to a stop. I had a hard time saying the words.
His eyes never leave mine. He did not prod or shove. Just be patient.
Because I finally muttered, "I'm not going to," so softly that I hoped he wouldn't hear it.Not enough for this school, not for my parents' expectations, not for—
I cut myself. Heart pounding in fear, I'm going to leave. Not for you.
The majority nearly escaped, but judging by the way his eyes flickered, he'd heard more than I wanted him to.
"Lin Chen."
His tone was steady, quiet, but it shook me more than a shout ever could.
I looked up despite myself. He leaned forward. orward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, bringing us closer than before. My pounding heartbeat and a pile of open notebooks were the only things standing between us as the gap between us narrowed.
"You don't clearly express yourself," he said. My throat worked, but no words came out.
"You think you're falling behind. However, what I mean…" He fixed his dark, unblinking gaze on mine. "...is someone who never gives up, regardless of how many times he stumbles."
I flinched. There is a selling machine incident. Then he recalled.
He didn't miss the occasion. His expression was earnest, serious in a way that made my chest ache.
"That's worth beyond your comprehension." I wanted to argue. I attempted to laugh it off, deflect it, and crack a joke. But even without my typical defences, his stare kept me motionless.
My hands curled, clenched their fists beneath the desk. "You make me sound…" "As if it matters to you," I whispered.
"It does," he said, shifting and charging us.
The words lAnded looked like a stone in water, rippling outward, sinking deep.
I swallowed hard, the pounding in my ears. "You can't just talk about things like that—"
"Why not?"
"Because—!" My throat tightened. "Because it's hazardous!"
His brows drew together softly. "Caudious?" "Yes!" I snapped, too loud, then lowered my voice. "You don't simply—give a damn about people like that. Not people like me, in particular. It adds complexity.
For the first time, he leaned back a little and narrowed his eyes as though considering what I had to say. "Complicated for whom?"
I went cold. The room was too quiet, the lamp buzzing faintly, my heartbeat roaring. He kept looking at me, analysing me and peeling away layers I didn't want to reveal.
I wanted to run. I wanted to stay.
"Don't," I whispered, before I knew I'd spoken.
"Don't what?"
"Don't… make me think about things like that." I trembled when I spoke. "Don't, if it's only a joke or you're just being nice. Would you please?
The plea hung in the atmosphere, raw and humiliating.
But he didn't look away.
"I don't make light of things like this."
The words were a blade and a balm that simultaneously cut me open and relieved the wound. My lungs and chest ached. Truggled to keep up.
He leaned forward again; the desk between us felt lighter than before, with shadows slicing across his angular jawline, like a fragile barrier, one push away from crumbling.
I couldn't breathe.
I did not wish to. The silence thickened, pulling tight around us, until every second felt like it might snap into Something irreversible.
Just then, the faint creak outside the dorm, the sound of footsteps reverberated, and laughter floated past the door, breaking the spell.
I jerked back as if caught, pretending to concentrate on the open book before me while fumbling with my pen and doing Something illegal, my hand trembled as I scribbled nonsense equations across the page.
Out of the corner of my eye, Zhou Mingyu was observing me motionless, and he refrained from calling me out. Didn't press further.
However, he didn't turn away either.
And the weight of his gaze burned hotter than any flame.
At this point, the numbers on my page were just chicken scratches.
I tried to act like I was solving a problem by pressing the pen harder against the paper, but the ink blob that was developing at the margin's edge betrayed me. My breathing remained shallow, and my pulse had not subsided.
I was unable to gaze upon him.
Not when his statements still echoed in my chest. Not when his hand was still hot against mine and my body was still remembering it.
A rustle broke the silence, so I took a chance and looked.
Zhou, with his towering frame, was approaching the cabinet in the room's corner. Opened it with quiet precision, pulling out two cups and a box of tea leaves.
For I just sat there in shock for a moment.… brewed tea? In the midst of scholarly conflict?
It made my head spin to hear the soft clink of porcelain, the soft pour of water, and the subtle aroma of herbs filling the room. When he returned, he set a steaming cup in front of me without a word.
I scribbled on it. Ou're bribing me with tea now?"
He didn't respond. Just sat back down, lifting his own cup with practised ease.
My hands were wrapped around mine, more as a task than anything else. Warmth seeped into my palms, steadying me despite myself.
The taste was earthy and grounding, but my tongue burned after the first sip. Thanks," I muttered.
His unreadable gaze shifted toward me, but there was a softening in the corners of his eyes. Silence stretched again, but it was different this time. Not piercing, not intolerable. Simply put, heavy.
Finally broke it, Lilly… you're not really bothered by the rumours?"
His eyes followed me for so long that I regretted speaking. En: "I told you. Yes, I am.
I grtightened the cup's tilt. Why?"
"Because they are essential, my laugh came out brittle. They're just noise to me. After speaking, people move on. They're not saying anything.
He set his cup down calmly and deliberately. What if they were?
I was frozen in mid-sip by a question. The throat worked uselessly. "Pardon me?"
Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, he closed the gap once more. The voice was low and quiet, yet it filled every corner of the room.
"WhaWhat if the rumours weren't merely that—rumours?t if they were real?"
My heart slammed into my ribs with a violent stammer. I forced a laugh, weak and broken. What do you mean, hypothetically? It's a funny joke.
My gaze remained fixed. I set the cup down before I spilt it all over myself. My entire body was shaking like an overworked engine, and my palms were clammy.
He remained motionless and unblinking, allowing the question to linger there oppressively. What would you do, Lin Chen?
My mouth opens. Nothing came out.
I could lie. I could laugh. As usual, I could deflect.
But all I could do was sit there shaking as his eyes were fixed on mine, and his voice pierced every crevice in my armour. The truth swelled in my chest, dangerous, desperate, begging to spill.
I super permitted it to fall with effort.…" My voice broke. I made another, softer attempt. "I'm not sure."
Something briefly flashed across his face, at that moment, I almost missed the significance of what he was saying. Was it satisfaction? Melancholy? Hope?
He leaned back slowly, still holding my gaze.
"The words landed like a stone in a still pond, rippling through me and sinking deep."
The room fell silent once more, but my heartbeat was too loud for me to hear anything else. I sat there long after, tea cooling in my hands, notebooks forgotten, the air between us heavy with everything unsaid.
And the sound of his voice followed me down the hallway that night as I staggered out of his dorm, clinging to my skin and igniting in my chest. Think about it.