Kai didn’t say anything for a while. He just stood by the balcony rail of the tiny serviced apartment they were staying in, staring at the cluttered skyline like he was waiting for something out there to blink first. Lian let him stand there. She knew better than to push him when he was in one of those moods where silence held more tension than words ever could.
He finally spoke without looking at her.
“Why did you tell him your real name?”
Lian exhaled slowly. That was what he was stuck on. She knew from the moment they walked out of the hospital lobby with the doctor’s voice still echoing behind them.
“It slipped,” she said, though that wasn’t fully true. “We haven’t seen each other in years. It felt strange to pretend.”
Kai turned his head a little, just enough to show he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “Pretend is the point, Jie.”
Lian rubbed her arms. The humidity clung to her skin like a second layer. “He wasn’t a threat.”
“Everyone is a threat,” Kai said. Not angrily, just matter-of-factly, which somehow made it worse.
She stepped inside and he followed a moment later. He shut the balcony door behind him and leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He looked tired. Not physically, but in that way he got when the world kept reminding him that trust was something other people enjoyed.
Lian moved to the small kitchen area and poured herself water. “He asked how I’ve been. That’s all. You saw the way he looked at me. He wasn’t analyzing anything.”
Kai gave a half snort. “People don’t change because you wish they stayed the same.”
She set the glass down. “I didn’t say he hasn’t changed. I’m aware he has a whole life now. And a reputation. He’s practically a celebrity in that hospital. He doesn’t want trouble.”
Kai didn’t push further, but she knew him well enough to understand that his mind was still running circles. He only stopped when he ran out of breath, and even then, he stored the worry somewhere to revisit later.
He walked to the small table and opened his laptop. “I pulled up the footage of the corridor,” he said casually, as if trying to shift both of them away from the emotional heaviness. “The cameras caught everything. The way he looked at you. The way you looked at him.”
Lian closed her eyes. “Kai.”
“I’m not judging,” he said, shoulders raised. “Just observing. It was… intense.”
She wished she could deny it. But she wasn’t thirteen. And she wasn’t the girl who left him behind to become something unrecognizable. Her relationship with the doctor was complicated, but the weight of it hadn’t vanished. It had only been buried under survival.
She sat across from Kai. “What do you want me to say? That I still care about him?”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“No,” he answered honestly. “I want to know if he’s going to be part of the equation now.”
“Equation?”
“You. Me. LSK. And your past deciding to walk back into the scene wearing nice suits and being charming.”
Lian didn't appreciate the accuracy of that description.
She hesitated before speaking. “No. He’s not part of anything. We just bumped into each other. That’s all.”
Kai looked at her in a way that suggested he didn’t fully buy that, but he let it go. He clicked something on the laptop. “Anyway, I dug into the clinic he’s working at. It’s connected to one of the private labs we flagged last month.”
Lian stiffened a little. “Connected how?”
“Funding. Director overlap. Nothing suspicious on the surface, but you know how these things hide under legit fronts. I’m not saying he’s involved in anything. It’s just interesting timing.”
She sat back slowly. “Kai. He’s a surgeon. He doesn’t get to choose who funds the hospital.”
“I know,” Kai said, softer now. “That’s why I’m checking it instead of jumping to conclusions.”
She studied him. “You’re being careful for my sake.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “You like him. I’m not trying to make this messy.”
The honesty in his voice made her chest tighten. “Thank you.”
Kai shut the laptop halfway. “But I need to know something. When he said your name… you froze. Like he pulled you back into another version of yourself.”
Lian stared at the wall for a long moment. “Because he did. For a second. It felt like I stepped into a life that could have happened if we didn’t lose everything.”
Kai didn’t speak. He waited.
“And then I remembered that it can’t happen,” she added, quieter. “And it shouldn’t.”
Kai leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not telling you not to feel things. I’m just… trying to keep us alive.”
“I know.”
He shut the laptop completely and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I feel like the bad guy every time we talk about him.”
Lian smiled faintly. “You’re not the bad guy. You’re my brother.”
“That’s what all little brothers say right before they get punched.”
She threw a crumpled napkin at him. He blocked it easily with a grin. The mood softened between them, settling into something familiar and less sharp.
Kai stood and stretched. “I’m going to make noodles. You want some?”
“Sure,” she said. “Extra chili.”
“You trying to burn your mouth off so you don’t have to think about anything?”
“Basically.”
He snorted and moved to the stove. The sound of boiling water filled the small apartment, oddly comforting in its ordinariness. Lian leaned back in her chair and watched him.
She wasn’t thinking about the doctor. Not exactly. She was thinking about how this life moved with no pauses. No space to breathe. Even a moment from the past could feel like a disruption.
Kai glanced over his shoulder. “He’s probably going to call you.”
Lian blinked. “Why?”
“Because when someone looks at you the way he did, they don’t just leave it alone.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. A soft, conflicted sound slipped out.
Kai smirked. “Don’t worry. If he calls, I’ll pretend to be you and tell him you moved to Mongolia to become a shepherd.”
Lian laughed under her breath. “Don’t you dare.”
“Fine. I’ll tell him you’re becoming a barista.”
“That’s even worse.”
He grinned and went back to cooking. The apartment smelled like soy sauce and chili oil.
