The drive was silent at first.
The kind of silence that isn't peaceful — it's heavy, breathing between them like a third presence neither could ignore.
Ryu's hand rested loosely on the wheel, but his knuckles were white. Meilin sat angled toward the window, pretending to watch the streets blur by, yet she could feel his eyes on her at every red light.
Finally, she sighed. "You're still angry."
"I'm not angry." His voice was calm, too calm. "Just curious why you'd sneak around meeting men you don't even name."
She turned, lips curved in a half-smile. "Curiosity can be dangerous, Ryu."
"And so can lying."
That made her look away again. For a moment, all she could hear was the soft hum of the engine and her own heartbeat. Then, quietly, she said, "Not everything I do is meant to hurt you."
His fingers twitched on the steering wheel. "Then help me understand it."
"I can't. Not yet." Her voice cracked a little, barely enough for him to catch, but he did.
At the next red light, Ryu leaned toward her. "You don't trust me."
She met his gaze, her expression torn between guilt and defiance. "It's not about trust. It's about survival."
That answer hit him harder than he expected. His hand moved before he thought — reaching across to touch her cheek.
"Whatever it is you're hiding from," he murmured, "you don't have to face it alone."
Meilin's breath caught. "You don't know what you're offering."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
The light turned green, but neither moved.
Their eyes locked, tension thrumming between them. The city noise faded; even time seemed to hold its breath.
Ryu leaned closer. "You drive me insane, Meilin."
Her lips parted, a shaky laugh slipping out. "You knew that before you kissed me."
"Yeah," he whispered. "And I'd still do it again."
When his lips brushed hers, the argument dissolved. It wasn't a kiss of passion this time — it was need, confusion, and something dangerously close to love.
Meilin clutched his collar, pulling him deeper into it, and the car's quiet space turned electric.
When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his, their breaths tangled.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered.
"Probably," he said, his thumb tracing the corner of her mouth. "But tell me you don't want it."
She hesitated — just long enough to make him believe she might deny it — then she whispered, "I never said I didn't."
To-be Continue