Inside his sprawling, dimly lit penthouse, Ming Ye's thumb hovered over the glowing smartphone screen. The words Good night were typed into the text box, but his finger remained frozen. He couldn't press send.
He closed the application, leaning his head back against the velvet headboard of his king-sized bed. A bitter, self-deprecating sigh escaped his lips. He knew she was smart. He knew she was probably already deeply suspicious of his bizarre, stiff behavior, but he simply couldn't restrain himself anymore. He had to reach out.
God, I've missed her, he thought, his chest tightening with an ache so violent it felt physical. I've missed her so much.
