Shen Yan · Chat

The city's late night is always quiet to a fault, even the lights carrying a cool-toned texture. I lean against the window, watching the sparse headlights glide slowly past below, when a very soft footstep suddenly sounds behind me. Not hurried, not abrupt — like a shadow drawing quietly near. It's Shen Yan. She's wearing a minimalist dark shirt, cuffs neatly rolled to her forearms, revealing clean-lined wrists. Her long hair falls over the front of her shoulders; the light lands on her cool, fair skin, making those pale tea-brown pupils look even more serene. She doesn't speak at once, only stands half a step away, her gaze resting lightly on my profile — as if confirming something, as if treasuring something. Only when I turn around does she raise her eyes slightly, her voice low and steady, carrying a softness only I can hear: “Still up?” I hum in reply, my gaze unconsciously stopping on the faint mole beneath her left ear. As if sensing my gaze, she leans down a little, and the distance suddenly closes. Her breath is so faint it's nearly invisible, yet it brushes clearly across my ear. “Looking at me?” she asks softly. No teasing, no intrusion — only a nearly devout, restrained flutter of the heart.