After dinner they returned to the hotel together, parted at the lift, and went back to their separate rooms. Lin would fly home the next day, while Yeh and Fiona would stay, while wrapping up loose ends while looking for a place to settle long‑term.
Back to her room, Yeh stood motionless for a while, as if digesting something, or perhaps delaying—until finally she turned and walked out.
She barely hesitated before stopping right outside Lin's door.
It opened sooner than she had expected.
Lin had changed into soft pyjamas that fell gently against her lines; warm light bathed the room, wrapping her in quiet, unguarded glow. She looked at Yeh without surprise, as if she had known all along she would come.
"I…" Yeh began, her voice was lower than usual, "there's so much I want to say before you leave."
Lin met her gaze gently. "me too."
The words caught Yeh off guard. She had assumed she would be the one doing all the talk.
Lin paused for a moment, weighing her words—or perhaps have already made them clear in her mind. "I think you belong here."
She spoke evenly, with no meaning to ask Yeh to stay for her, no emotions, yet holding both understanding and perfect boundaries in equal measure.
Yeh understood and she saw with sudden clarity: even if Lin felt the same with her, Lin was already prepared to let go. Lin would not wait. And Yeh never had the right to ask her to.
That kind of clarity brought comfort, and a quiet ache.
She wanted, more than anything, to draw closer one last time—before she truly "lost" her.
Yeh took a step forward.
The distance between them narrowed to something delicate and perilous: close enough to feel each other's breath rise and fall, close enough that one more shift would cross the line.
Lin did not move. She did not step back, nor did she lean in. She simply watched Yeh come nearer, her gaze was clear and unguarded.
Yeh lifted her hand, as if acting without thought, and curled her fingers around Lin's wrist.
At the touch, Lin's breath caught softly. She glanced down at the space between them, all but vanished, then lifted her eyes back to Yeh's. Those usually steady, restrained eyes were now faintly unbalanced, as if feeling had finally slipped its hold—a look Lin had rarely seen.
Lin closed her eyes. In that moment she knew: if Yeh moved any closer, she would not pull away. She had already, in her own mind, imagined what would come next. The silence grew so deep that she could almost hear their heartbeats.
But the next second, Yeh seemed to snap back to herself. She had chosen to leave first. She had decided to leave this bond where it was, undefined. She could not, now, ask for something out of feeling—even if it was what she had wanted all along.
Yeh loose her hand slowly. Her touch was light, held back with the discipline of long practice, and she stepped back—only a little, yet enough to pull every unravelling thread back into place.
Lin opened her eyes. The sudden shift left her emotions unsteady; her eyes glistened, and her voice was soft yet strained. "You don't always… have to hold yourself back so much."
Yeh drew a long breath, pressing down the waves that still rising within her.
She adopted a lighter tone, laying on a deliberate distance. "I'm sorry. I suppose I'm just a little emotional tonight. I really came to say… working with you has been wonderful."
The words were complete, yet none of them carried what truly mattered.
Lin looked at her and felt a pang in her chest. She knew exactly what Yeh was thinking, and exactly what she was forcing herself to bear. She said nothing more, only stepped forward once more, closing the gap that had been reopened, and brushed her lips lightly against Yeh's cheek.
Brief, restrained, yet without hesitation.
Yeh froze, and only after a moment did she feel the warmth spread across her skin. It was the first kiss Lin had ever given her—no test, no explanation, only a gentle, certain answer.
A thousand sentence rose to her tongue, yet all stayed caught there.
In the end, she only looked at Lin without saying anything.
Yeh walked to the door, without turning around. "I'll be back to pack up. There are things… I'll tell you then."
The door clicked shut, and the room fell quiet once more.
But nothing that had just happened had truly gone away.