The phone finally connected, and Akira's smooth, composed voice flowed through the receiver. "Good evening, Miss..."
Naea leaned against the kitchen counter, the stress of the day melting away at the sound. She pressed the phone closer to her ear. "Good evening."
"Well," Akira chuckled softly, "it seems my delivery found its way to you."
"Hmm," Naea hummed, a small smile playing on her lips. "It did."
"I have more news, Miss," Akira continued, her tone shifting to something more mischievous. "I'll be home in about ten minutes. And... I'm bringing a guest with me."
Naea's smile faltered slightly. "A guest? Who?"
"The Author," Akira replied. "The one whose manuscript I've been editing all afternoon."
A spark of sudden, sharp jealousy flared in Naea's chest. The thought of Akira spending all day focused on someone else's words—and now bringing that person into their private sanctuary—made her voice turn cold. "Akira..."
"Oh, my dear, beautiful wife," Akira teased, her voice dripping with amusement. "Don't sound so threatening. I'm not bringing them here to tease you; I want them to meet you. We can discuss the rest when I get home."
Before Akira could say another word or offer another playful jab, Naea abruptly ended the call. She stared at the phone for a moment, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and a lingering, fiery protectiveness.
Akira was coming home, but she wasn't coming alone—and Naea was already preparing her "Doctor's gaze" for this mysterious guest.
Even with the lingering sting of jealousy prickling at her heart, Naea couldn't abandon her nature as a gracious host. If Akira was bringing a guest into their home, that guest would be treated with the utmost hospitality—regardless of how Naea felt about the "Author" who had been taking up Akira's time all day.
With the discipline of a professional, she pushed her personal feelings aside and stepped into the kitchen. She decided to prepare something quick yet elegant, something that spoke of her "Old Money" refinement and warmth.
As she moved between the counter and the stove, her hands worked with the same rhythmic precision she once used in the operating room. She was the picture of a perfect wife, setting the stage for a welcoming home. Yet, in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder about this Wei Jian.
"A few hours ago, during the afternoon..."
While Naea was patiently guiding Zheng through her lessons, the atmosphere at the book cafe was buzzing with professional energy. Akira was deep in the digital pages of the manuscript, her eyes sharp as she refined the "Impossible Love" narrative.
Suddenly, the manager of the book cafe approached her table. "Akira," he began, lowering his voice out of respect for her focus. "I can see you've truly captured the essence of this theme. But I have a message for you. The author, Wei Jian, is eager to meet her editor in person."
Akira didn't look surprised. A small, knowing smile played on her lips as she began to pack her laptop and essentials. "Hmm. I was actually hoping to meet the author myself. There are layers to this story that only a face-to-face conversation can uncover."
The manager nodded but added a note of caution. "She can't meet you on the college campus today—too many distractions. She's requested a meeting at Rose Cafe instead."
Akira gave a short, decisive nod. She stood up, the elegance of her "Old Money" aesthetic drawing eyes as she moved. Snatching her car keys from the table, she walked toward the exit with a sense of purpose. "Rose Cafe it is."
The cafe was a masterpiece of aesthetic design, filled with soft lighting and the comforting aroma of roasted beans. Akira parked her car and stepped out, but she chose to leave her laptop and bags behind. The only thing she carried into the building was the manuscript of the book.
Inside, the atmosphere was calm. There was no chaotic crowd; instead, people sat in a dignified, quiet manner, lost in their own worlds. Akira paused for a moment, her sharp eyes scanning the room like a predator locating its mark.
Most of the tables were occupied by couples or small groups, but one figure caught her attention immediately. Sitting alone at a table near the center was a girl. From where Akira stood, she could only see the girl's back. Her hair was left open, flowing elegantly, and pinned neatly with a classic hair bow.
There was a certain poise in her posture that set her apart from everyone else. Akira didn't need to see her face to be certain. Observing the solitude of the girl compared to the pairs around her, she knew instantly—this was the Author.
Akira adjusted her coat and began to walk toward the table, the manuscript gripped firmly in her hand. The "Editor" had arrived.
Akira approached the table with her usual silent confidence. Without a word, she placed the manuscript on the polished surface and pulled out the chair opposite the girl.
Feeling the sudden presence, the girl looked up, and for a moment, time seemed to slow down. Before her sat a woman who was the definition of a "perfect figure." Akira looked to be in her mid-twenties, radiating an aura of effortless authority. She was dressed in a light green trench coat, her outfit styled in a way that was both modest and incredibly sophisticated—the peak of "Old Money" luxury.
Her mid-short wolf-cut hair framed her face perfectly, and the glasses she wore added an intellectual depth to her look, balancing her "cool" energy with a touch of softness. She looked like a masterpiece of modern professionalism.
The girl stared, momentarily struck by Akira's presence, until the silence was broken.
"I am the Editor," Akira said, her voice calm and steady as she locked eyes with the author.
No, thank you," Wei replied softly. "I actually had lunch on the college campus before coming here."
Akira gave a slight, appreciative smile and leaned forward, placing her hand near the manuscript. "Well, I've read several chapters of your story so far. It's a Yuri love story, isn't it?"
Wei nodded simply. "Mmm-hmm."
Akira looked at her curiously. "Then... I have to ask..."
Before she could finish, Wei interjected quietly, "I'm straight."
Akira's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Then why write a Yuri story?"
"I wrote it based on a conversation I had," Wei explained, her gaze momentarily drifting as if she were traveling back in time. "It felt like a story that needed to be told."
"Oh?" Akira's interest was piqued. "That sounds intriguing."
Wei began to recount the memory. "A friend of mine, who is interested in girls, once told me that in today's world, 'normal' love stories are easy to find and widely accepted. I asked her what she meant by 'normal,' and she said, 'You know, a girl loving a boy.' Then she looked at me with this look of quiet longing and said, 'But there is a kind of love that people still find impossible to accept.'"
Wei continued, her voice soft. "I asked her what it was, and she replied, 'Loving someone of the same gender.' She told me how much more it hurts when you have deep feelings for someone who doesn't even think about you that way—someone who doesn't even understand the weight of your feelings."
"Did something happen?" Wei had asked her friend at the time. "It sounds like you've fallen for someone."
Her friend had smiled sadly and admitted, "I have. It's our classmate, Feiyi."
Wei had been shocked. "But... she isn't even in our friend group how can you feel something like this ."
"I know," her friend replied. "But I have to admit, she's the one who made me realize I had these feelings inside me. I'm one hundred percent sure of it."
Coming back to the present, Wei looked across the table at Akira, her expression calm but thoughtful. "So, that's how it started. I just... decided to write it down."
Akira listened to Wei's story about unrequited feelings, but instead of looking sympathetic, a small, confident smile played on her lips. "Well," Akira began, her voice steady. "Your story of 'Impossible Love' actually has a very possible, living example."
Wei Jian tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"
"My wife, Naea Sato," Akira replied, her eyes softening as she spoke the name. "She's an all-rounder—the loveliest, kindest soul I've ever known. She is, without a doubt, the greatest blessing of my life."
Wei Jian watched Akira's expression change—the cold, professional "Editor" had completely vanished, replaced by a woman deeply in love. A warm smile spread across Wei's face. "Well... it seems my book has landed in the hands of exactly the right editor."
"Perhaps," Akira said, regaining a bit of her cool composure.
Wei couldn't resist teasing her a little. "Mmm... and it seems this editor is more than a little obsessed with her wife."
Akira didn't deny it. She let out a soft, genuine laugh, looking directly at Wei. "I'm sure of it. There's a very specific, incomparable feeling that comes when your crush actually becomes your life partner."
Wei smiled back, her eyes twinkling with understanding. "And that's a feeling you're living right now, isn't it?"
"Mmm," Akira replied, her gaze turning reflective. "The present is exactly like that. But the future... the future is unpredictable. That's why I try to make every single moment with Naea feel like something special."
Wei smiled warmly. "You really do love her deeply, don't you?"
"Without a shadow of a doubt," Akira answered instantly.
Wei leaned back , "Well, I knew you were married the moment I saw your ring. But I have to admit, I didn't realize your partner was a woman until you just told me."
Akira offered a small, knowing smile in response. There was a brief silence before Akira looked at Wei with a curious expression. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course," Wei replied.
"That friend of yours... the one who inspired the story," Akira began. "Is she still trying to approach that girl, or has she moved on?"
Suddenly, the light in Wei's eyes dimmed. A heavy, suffocating sadness washed over her face . She looked down at the table, her voice barely a whisper.
"It's been three months... since she passed away."
The air between them turned cold. Akira's breath hitched in her throat, her professional composure instantly replaced by a look of deep sympathy.
"I'm so sorry," Akira said softly, her voice filled with genuine regret for asking. "I didn't know."
Wei looked directly at Akira, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "That is why I call it 'Impossible Love,'" she whispered, her voice trembling as she slipped back into the painful memory.
"It was Feiyi's birthday. She had invited everyone from the class, including my friend. My friend was so happy that day... she had finally found the courage to confess. She didn't care if she was rejected; she just wanted to be honest about her heart."
Wei took a shaky breath. "I wasn't there. I was out of the city visiting my grandmother with my mother, so I couldn't protect her. There was a boy in our class who knew about my friend's feelings. He was cruel. He knew her family—specifically her father, who was incredibly strict—would never accept such a love."
"My friend had written a beautiful love letter. She tried to give it to Feiyi, but the party was so crowded, and Feiyi was busy with so many guests. Feiyi wasn't a bad person; she just didn't notice. So, my friend quietly tucked the letter among Feiyi's birthday presents, hoping she would find it and read it later in private."
Wei's expression darkened. "But that boy saw everything. With cold calculation, he stole the letter before Feiyi could ever see it. When my friend returned home, he was already there. He showed the letter to her family, exposing her secret in the most humiliating way possible."
"Her family... they were furious. They screamed at her, but there was someone else there too—someone who was deeply prejudiced, someone who hated who she was. The very next morning, after Feiyi's birthday... the news came. My friend was dead."
Akira remained silent, the weight of the story hanging heavy in the air. She didn't offer empty words of comfort; she knew some wounds were too deep for simple apologies.
Wei looked down, her tears finally spilling over. "My friend isn't here today because of me," she choked out. "That boy... the one who stole the letter... he is my brother, Xi Jian."
The revelation hit like a physical blow.
"He had a crush on her," Wei continued, her voice breaking. "When he found out she liked Feiyi instead of him, he acted out of petty, childish jealousy. He thought telling her family would 'fix' her, or maybe he just wanted to hurt her for rejecting his unspoken feelings. He had no idea... he didn't realize how strict and unstable her family truly was. He didn't know his 'stupid mistake' would end her life."
Wei covered her face with her hands, sobbing quietly in the middle of the aesthetic cafe. "He did something foolish, and now she's gone forever. Every word I write in this book is for her. It's the only way I can live with myself."
Akira listened as the heavy silence settled. "And where is Xi Jian now?" she asked quietly.
"In a prison of his own guilt," Wei wiped her eyes. "He hasn't spoken to anyone since that day. He even went to her family's house and screamed at them, blaming them for what happened... but it was too late. The damage was done."
"It's a complicated tragedy," Akira remarked, her voice calm but observant. "But your story characters are quite similar to real life. Why did you choose a Professor for the lead role instead of a student?"
Wei managed a small, puzzled smile. "Honestly? I don't even know. I took the emotions from real life, but the setting and the characters just appeared in my mind as fiction. I can't explain why I chose a Professor."
Akira's lips pulled into a knowing smirk. She knew that sometimes, life imitates art in ways we don't expect.
Wei noticed the smirk and spoke up, her curiosity returning. "You know, I've never actually met a Yuri couple in real life, so I was wondering if..."
Before she could finish her hesitant request, Akira stood up, her keys jingling in her hand. "Well, you're about to. And you know what? My wife, Naea, is actually a brilliant surgeon. Though she's stepped away from the hospital for now to give home tuitions."
Wei's eyes widened, her sadness momentarily replaced by professional excitement. "A surgeon? Really? That's incredible!"
"It is," Akira said with a proud, affectionate smile.
"Then this is perfect!" Wei exclaimed. "As a medical student, I'll actually have so much to learn from her."
Akira gave a sharp, decisive nod. "Let's go, then."
As they walked out of the cafe and toward the car, they had no idea that back at the house, the basement was still filled with the rhythmic click of billiard balls as Naea and Zheng played their final, tension-filled game
Akira walked up to the counter to settle the bill. The man behind the desk looked at her, confused. "Excuse me, Miss, but you didn't actually order anything. What are you paying for?"
Akira offered him a calm, polite smile. "For the time," she replied simply, leaving the payment on the counter before turning away.
Wei, who was standing right behind her, overheard the response. She felt a surge of respect for Akira; that small gesture spoke volumes about her character and class. It wasn't about the money; it was about the value of the space they had occupied.
Once outside, Akira unlocked her car and gestured for Wei to get in. As Wei settled into the passenger seat, Akira climbed into the driving seat but didn't start the engine immediately. Instead, she pulled out her phone and quickly placed an order.
She arranged for a stunning bouquet of fresh flowers and a premium cheesecake to be delivered to their home, adding a sweet, handwritten-style message for Naea. Only after she was sure the surprise was on its way did she shift the car into gear and begin the drive.
Back in the present, the city blurred past the car windows as Akira and Wei drove toward the house. At one point, while stopped at a light, Wei's gaze drifted toward the sidewalk. She made brief eye contact with a stranger passing by—a completely normal, fleeting moment—but it served as a reminder of how vast the world was, and how small her own tragedy felt in comparison.
Soon, they pulled into the driveway of the elegant residence. Akira parked the car with her usual precision and stepped out, the cool evening air catching her coat. Wei followed, taking a deep breath as she looked at the home of the woman who was the "blessing" Akira had described so passionately.
Inside, Naea was putting the finishing touches on the table. Despite the short notice and her lingering feelings of jealousy, she had managed to prepare something truly impressive. Her efficiency was a testament to her discipline as a surgeon; even under emotional stress, she could create something beautiful and welcoming.
The house smelled of fresh herbs and warmth, a stark contrast to the cold stories they had discussed at the cafe. The stage was set. The door was about to open, and for the first time, the world of the "Impossible Love" manuscript was about to collide with the reality of Naea and Akira's life..